Six Feet From the Edge
by ThirteenWishes
Summary: After Eli attempts to end his own life, he is stuck in a support group with five other "suicides," including Clare Edwards, a blue-eyed beauty whose past might be even darker than his own. OOC. Eclare. Rating might change.
1. Chapter 1

**In the end, our society will be defined not only by what we create, but by what we refuse to destroy.**

The room was silent except for the ticking of the clock and the breathing of seven separate bodies.

This is called setting up the scene. Who's who, alive, dead, happy, sad; the room, the color of the walls, the chairs they were sitting in.

No one was dead, but with the exception of Dr. Alger, they all wished that they were.

Adam, who leaped out into traffic.

Drew, who pressed the gun to his chest instead of his head; the bullet missed his heart and buried itself in his shoulder blade.

Fiona, who filled her stomach with what she hoped was a deadly mixture of sleeping pills and champagne.

Bianca, who leaped from the top of a building that apparently wasn't quite high enough.

And then him.

Elijah Goldsworthy, at your service.

And now this girl, this _Clare_.

She was standing in the doorway, her short, cinnamon-colored curls framing her face. She was small, delicate, even fragile, and her expression only emphasized that even more. Her shirt was long-sleeved, but they didn't completely cover her wrists, which had a thin line of bruising circling them. It was like she had had rope tied around her wrists, or maybe she had been handcuffed.

And, hell, she was kind of beautiful.

Eli wondered if Dr. Alger would ask Clare, "Would you like to share the _circumstances _leading to you being here?"

_Circumstances._ What a safe, clean word for the sharp blade slicing into his forearm, the blood pouring down as he carved the last letter deeply into his skin. The pain, radiating through his entire body, as he felt his life slowly ebbing away.

What had happened to Clare? What had landed her in this _support group_, with these other _suicides_?

He didn't know why he cared. There was just something about how vulnerable this _Clare_ looked… well, it reminded him of Julia.

_Julia._

No. No, he couldn't think about Julia right now. Damn it, he _couldn't_. He'd break apart. He'd shatter, and no one would ever be able to find the pieces again.

Or maybe Dr. Alger would ask Clare how she was _feeling._ Eli fucking _hated _that question. Nothing in his life was private anymore. His door was unlocked at all times, his parents constantly checked every damned corner for anything suspicious, and now he had some damned therapist trying to pick apart his mind, trying to get inside his head and read his thoughts.

His emotions, his feelings, as fucked up as they were, were all he had left, and now he was forced to share even those. He had nothing in this world to call his own anymore.

"This is Clare Edwards," Dr. Alger repeated. "Clare, take a seat, please."

To Eli's surprise, Clare sat down right beside him. Usually, his stereotypically "Goth" or "Emo" wardrobe and _I don't give a shit _attitude seemed to create an aura of stay-the-hell-away, but maybe this new suicide didn't see it.

Or maybe she just didn't care.

Most of the others smiled slightly and mumbled their hellos. Eli remained silent.

"Eli?" Dr. Alger prodded. "Aren't you going to say hi to Clare?"

Eli kept his eyes pointed straight at the wall in front of him. What the hell did she want him to say? "Hi, I hope you like having to admit every damned thought that crosses your mind to everyone. I hope that you like being forced to trust complete strangers who recently tried to kill themselves, because that's all we fucking do around here."

"Eli," Dr. Alger repeated, sounding disappointed.

Oh, God forbid that he disappoint that bitch of a therapist. Or maybe she was a psychiatrist. Really, what was the difference?

But he had learned the hard way that things were easier if he just cooperated, so he turned towards Clare, locking eyes with her. Her irises were a unique shade of light blue, a silver tint around the pupil. He suddenly wanted to say, _You have pretty eyes._

But he couldn't let himself. That could be mistaken as kindness. Affection.

Weakness.

Instead, he smirked. "Welcome to hell."

000

"So? How was your first day?"

Helen was acting like it was Clare's first day of school, _ever_, like she was her little five-year-old kindergartener ready to brave the perils of the elementary hallways, not like she had just come back from a suicide support group.

Clare simply shrugged. She knew that her mother was just trying to help, but in reality, she was smothering her. Clare needed space; she needed time to work things out in her own mind.

There were days- a lot of days- when she wished that she'd never woken up in that hospital. That no one had found her. That she had just died.

When you handcuffed your wrists together and leaped off a thirty-foot cliff into the ocean, you don't expect to be saved. Just her dumb fucking luck that someone had pulled her out and called an ambulance.

She wasn't sure how she had survived. One moment, her lungs were filling with water, her eyes wide open in the salty abyss, the world fading into nothing, and the next she was laying on a hospital bed with uncomfortably thin pillows and the irritating _BEEPBEEPBEEP _of the heart rate monitor constantly in her ears.

"I called Darcy," Helen added. "She says that she'll be here sometime on Thursday."

That caught Clare's attention. Her sister? Coming home? She turned sharply so she was staring her mother in the face, searching for any hint of deception, but there was none. Darcy was coming home at last. After almost three years of nothing but letters and the occasional email- there wasn't much Internet access in Kenya- she would finally see her sister.

And to think it only took attempted suicide.

Now that Helen had Clare's interest, she smiled patiently and repeated, "How was your first day?"

That dark-haired boy with the black clothes and green eyes, the one she'd sat beside. The one everyone called Eli. The one who hardly ever spoke and simply stared at the wall most of the time, his eyes narrowed in what appeared to be anger.

_Welcome to hell._

How was she supposed to respond to her mother's question?

Clare shrugged and remained silent.

000

**A/N: I feel like I have to write this to clear some things up. I write what I think the character's opinions would be. I don't necessarily agree with everything they think. It's fanfiction. If I have a strong opinion I need to share and it doesn't go along with a character's POV, I'll write it in these author's notes, which will probably be pretty lengthy. Go ahead and skip them if you want, I don't mind. You have been warned.**

**So this is going to be the story I'll be working on, now that Blind Faith is finished. I think I made things pretty clear. If not, tell me what you're confused about. I would private message you back, but apparently technology hates me and my computer freezes every time I try, so I'll just answer it in the next chapter.**

**What did you think? Should I continue it?**

**I need Eclare. I require it to live. No matter how much Clare thinks she's over Eli, she can't fight the power that is the Degrassi fangirls. There is no hope, Clare. Just suck it up, deal with it, get back together with Eli, and everyone will be just peachy.**

**Anyways, review please!**

**I do not own Degrassi or the quote I used at the beginning. (I have no idea who said it, I just thought it was cool, and it kind of fits the story. You'll see what I mean soon enough.)**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: OH MY GOD.**

**SO MANY REVIEWS.**

**I love you guys. Seriously, you're awesome.**

**So I'm posting this chapter early! Enjoy!**

000

"_I hate my parents. I hate them!"_

_Julia stomped around Eli's small room, her fingers tangled in the roots of her hair and her eyes blazing with anger and frustration. Eli lay on his back on his bed, staring up at the ceiling; he was used to his girlfriend's moods by now, and he knew that if he just waited for her to get it out of her system, everything would be better for both of them._

"_What did they do this time?" he asked as calmly as he could._

"_It's my damned stepmother!" she shouted. "She just started yelling at me out of nowhere, and all my dad did was tell me not to make her mad! And _then _she kicked me out of the fucking house and told me now to come back until I could control my goddamned temper!"_

_She flopped down on her side on the bed, her back to Eli. He rolled so he was lying on his side behind her, rubbing her back soothingly. Usually, these began with her showing up on Eli's door, pissed as hell, and then she would scream and shout, and then she would break down and cry. And, damn, he didn't want her to cry again._

"_It's okay," Eli comforted her._

"_No, it's not," she whispered. "I can't go home, Eli. I can't go back there."_

"_You can stay here tonight," Eli offered. "My parents aren't home. It'll just be you and me, okay?"_

_Julia turned to face him; she wasn't crying yet, but she looked so fucking sad that he could almost hear his heart breaking. "You love me, right?" she whispered._

"_Of course I do," he replied immediately. He'd told her many times that he loved her, but she'd never said the words back. He knew that she loved him; she just had difficulty saying the words. "You know I love you, Jules."_

_She shifted closer to him, resting her forehead on his shoulder. For a while, there was nothing but a comfortable, easy silence, and then she whispered, "I love you too."_

Eli was lying in the same position, on his back, staring up on the ceiling, but this time, there was no Julia. There was no dark-haired girl lying beside him; there was no warmth of another body pressed against his. He was alone.

Julia was dead.

She was dead, and it was all his fault.

He killed her.

Eli pushed his long sleeve up to his elbow and traced his fingers over the slightly raised scars, spelling out _JULIA _in ragged scars.

She was always going to be a part of him.

"I… I miss you, Jules," he whispered, the words loud in the otherwise silent room. "I really, really miss you. I love you so much…"

A single tear slipped down his cheek, and he repeated softly, "I love you so much."

With shaking fingers, he reached up to wipe the drop of water away.

Someone knocked loudly on his door; Eli didn't know why they bothered. Even if he told them to stay out, his parents would just come barging inside, their cell phones in hand with thumbs positioned over the _9_, ready to call for an ambulance in case they found him in a pool of his own blood again.

When he didn't answer, the door flew open and, just as he'd suspected, his mother's cell phone was clenched in her hand.

She smiled unsteadily when she saw he was awake, okay, and she said in a fake, cheery voice, "Come on, baby boy, get up. You're gonna miss your group therapy."

000

Every time Clare closed her eyes, she saw _him._

His cruel smirk. His laughing face. The satisfied look in his eyes as he hit her, slapped her, beat her until she trembled on the ground at his feet, a mess of blood and tears…

And he was so damned _smart _about it. He made sure that he only hit her in places that would be covered by clothing, and that one time he'd given her a black eye, he'd nearly forced her to cover it up. And then…

No. She couldn't think about that. It was horrible, it was ugly, but it happened, and there was no changing that. There was no going back. She deserved every hit, every punch, every blow he landed on her, but she couldn't think about that now.

She'd tried to end it, once and for all. She'd tried to let herself go, let herself drown. And she'd failed at even that.

"Clare?"

Dr. Alger's soft voice snapped her back to reality, and her eyes opened. Everyone was staring at her, eyebrows raised. Well, everyone but Eli. This time, Clare was sitting between Fiona and Adam, her hands folded on her lap. Eli's eyes were fixed to a spot on the wall about two feet above and to the left of her head, seeming oblivious to everything else around him. He didn't seem to be seeing the wall itself; his eyes were narrowed in anger, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, and it was like he was glaring at some old enemy, like some nemesis of his was standing behind Clare.

"I'm sorry, what?" Her voice was a little rough from disuse; she had spoken more in this therapy group than she had in the last three months, and this was only her second time there.

_You dumb bitch. You stupid little shit._

Clare fought to keep _his _voice out of her mind, her fingernails digging into her leg through the fabric of her jeans. She couldn't think about him, about what had happened. Not here, not now.

Not ever.

She'd never be able to forget. She would need brain surgery to remove it from her mind; she would need surgeons to slice in from her memory. Amnesia. God, that would be amazing. To forget everything, to have a clean, blank slate. A new, fresh start, a second chance at the life she'd so horribly fucked up.

It was her fault. He was right; she deserved it.

She closed her eyes again and willed herself to be somewhere else, another time, another place, _before_. When she was safe, secure, sane. When she was happy.

The entire world began to blur, began to fade, as she hid in her own mind from her own mind.

_Clare? Who's Clare?_

_I'm not Clare. I can't be. I won't let myself be._

_I can't let myself be._

_I can't._

000

_Julia was a girl of extremes._

_When she was angry, all hell broke loose. She was like a hurricane, destroying everything in her path, so damned pissed off that it was best to just stay the hell out of her way._

_When she was happy, she was radiant, seeming to almost glow. She really only let her guard down when she was around Eli, and he loved that he was the only one to see that soft, gentle side of such a tough girl._

_And when she was sad, she drowned the world in her tears, oceans of salty drops flowing down her cheeks. She would usually be furious with herself for showing such a weak emotion, but sometimes when she was alone with Eli, she would let herself cry, let him comfort her._

_It wasn't like they'd never fought before._

_It wasn't like that was their worst fight, either. Oh, there had been times when Eli's fists had clenched in anger and he'd wanted to just smack the hell out of his girlfriend, and there had been times when Julia actually had punched him- she wasn't the kind of girl who slapped people. There had been times when they shouted so loudly, the neighbors came over at two in the morning to tell them to shut the hell up. They always forgave each other, though; they always apologized. That wasn't their worst fight._

_But it was their last._

Eli stared out of the window, not seeing anything. The cars speeding by outside blurred into a smear of washed-out colors, the people on the sidewalk fading into transparent ghosts. Both of his hands were wrapped around his coffee cup; the bitter, black liquid inside had long since gone cold, but he sipped it anyways, barely tasting it as it slid down his throat.

And then the door to the Dot opened, and the person who walked inside sat down across from him.

Eli glanced up, surprised.

Clare.

Clare, the girl from his group therapy. The girl with the pretty light blue eyes, with the broken expression, with the bruised wrists, with the thin tan line around her finger, like she had recently been wearing a ring.

"Hi," she mumbled.

Eli couldn't stop staring at her. He knew that he must look like some kind of creepy freak, his eyes almost falling out of his head, but he couldn't believe that this girl had just walked in an sat down with him. And not in the _who-do-you-think-you-are _way; the _what-does-she-want-from-me _way.

Just because he was paranoid didn't mean that people weren't out to get him.

"Hi," he replied finally.

"I'm… Clare?" Her voice was soft, uncertain. "From… from Dr. Alger's-"

"I know," he interrupted, and then wished that he hadn't. For the past couple months, he hadn't had much contact with other people, and even before Julia died, he hadn't been a very social person.

"You're Eli," she stated.

_Yeah, I know. I welcomed you to hell. Nice of me, wasn't it?_

"Yep," he replied simply.

They sat in silence for a few moments, just sitting there, staring at each other with empty, hollow eyes. Finally, Eli decided that it couldn't hurt to at least attempt to make small talk.

"So what happened to you?" he asked.

Clare flinched, like he had physically struck her, and he instantly regretted his question. It was none of his damned business; if she had been the one to ask, he wouldn't have bothered to reply.

The fingers of her right hand brushed over the tan line on her left, like twisting whatever ring had once been there had once been a nervous habit of hers. When her fingertips touched bare skin, she snatched her hand away, whisking both of them under the table.

"I tried to kill myself."

_Well, no shit. _

"I handcuffed my wrists together and jumped off a cliff into the ocean," she added.

Eli certainly wasn't expecting that.

What was he supposed to say? _Oh, I'm sorry._ What was he supposed to be sorry for? That she hadn't died? He was so absorbed with self-pity that only his self-_hatred _rivaled it, but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of sadness for this girl. Maybe, once upon a time, she had been bright, happy, _whole_. Maybe she had once been a nice girl with good friends and crush on some high school heartthrob, and then something had happened, and her whole life had just gone down the drain.

And maybe he was reading way too much into it. Maybe he was thinking way too much about Clare.

"What about you?" she asked, but he could tell that she didn't expect an answer.

He simply smirked and looked away from those damned eyes of hers.

There was something about her that pulled him in, something about her that he wanted to rescue. But he couldn't. He fucked up every damned thing he touched.

And Clare was screwed up enough as it was.

Clare turned to grab her purse, fishing around in it for her wallet, her money, her credit card, her _whatever_. Eli tapped his Sharpie-colored fingernails loudly against the table, catching her attention.

"I got it," he told her.

She smiled.

God damn it, she _smiled_.

Her pale pink lips pulled back shyly, exposing the smallest glimpse of white teeth. She was fucking _smiling _at him, and it was real, it was honest, and God, she was _smiling._

Maybe, for the first time in God only knew how long, he had done something right. Maybe he hadn't fucked up this time.

000

**A/N: So, you get some insight on both Clare and Eli's past and the first little hints of Eclare.**

**(By the way, Clare sat down beside Eli because she recognized him, she didn't want to sit alone, and she thought that he might want some company. Just to clear things up.)**

**Sorry if this is starting off kind of slow, but I really hate rushing things. Oh, and Eli isn't the perfect Prince Charming in this story. Actually, he's pretty screwed up, and so is Clare. So don't be surprised if Eli's not the nicest, most understanding person in the history of fanfiction, or if Clare… well, you'll have to wait and see.**

**And I know that Eli's POV is mostly Julia-centric, but that's because she's always on his mind. He tried to kill himself because she died, after all.**

**Eli and Clare are the main characters, so the story will be mostly about their backgrounds, but Drew, Adam, Bianca, and Fiona will still be major characters, one way or another, so you will find out their backgrounds, too. For example, Fiona's will (sort of) be in the next chapter.**

**Review please!**

**I do not own Degrassi or any of the characters.**


	3. Chapter 3

"I just couldn't take it anymore. My… my parents told me that if I didn't change, they were kicking me out. Like it's my fault that I'm _lesbian_." Fiona spat out the last word. "They made me go to therapy, and some… some _treatment _center. Like my sexuality's a _disease _or something."

Clare tried to block out the words. How was this supposed to help? Sitting here, listening to all the reasons why other people tried to end their lives? It wasn't that she didn't feel bad for Fiona; she really, really did. Clare's mother was a lot of things, but, as strictly Christian as she was, she didn't see a problem with homosexuality. In her opinion, love was love, no matter who it was with.

And now Clare was sitting there in a chair that was so comfortable it was almost uncomfortable, if that made any sense, and Fiona looked like she was about to cry as she told her story.

God, Clare wished that she could open up to someone, anyone, about what happened.

She wanted to spill her story. She wanted to get it off her chest. She wanted to let go, for someone to help her.

But no one even knew about _him_. No one knew why she'd tried to kill herself. She'd hid her secret well; no one even suspected what she'd done.

Did they?

"And, you know, I started to think that there really was something wrong with me, that they were right. And I wasn't changing. I still… I still liked girls." Fiona took a deep breath, and Clare wondered how it felt, to be able to admit that. To be free enough to spill her secret to the world.

Clare wanted that. She wanted to be able to tell someone.

As a habit, she reached to twist her purity ring on her finger, before remembering that the thin silver promise was somewhere at the bottom of the Atlantic.

_Good riddance._

"Take your time," Dr. Alger urged as Fiona struggled to calm down, a few tears spilling over. "You don't have to talk about anything you don't want to."

"No, I… I need to say this. Just… give me a minute, please."

Clare had to hand it to the other… _suicides_. They didn't interject, didn't talk, didn't do anything. They just listened.

She wanted someone to listen to her.

_Get your ass back here!_

She bit her lip, trying to get _his _voice out of her mind. She didn't want to remember. She didn't want to relive it. God, she just wanted to fucking _forget_. Why couldn't she forget?

_You little slut. This is all your fucking fault._

"I hated myself. I felt like I didn't deserve to live."

Clare could definitely relate to that.

"How do you feel now?" Dr. Alger asked gently.

"Better," Fiona admitted. "My… my mom said that she'd try to understand, and my dad's never around anyways, so…" She smiled slightly. "And my brother's really supportive. I… I guess suicide really is a permanent solution to a temporary problem."

One could only hope.

000

Eli gripped the book in both hands; _Invisible Monsters _by Chuck Palahniuk. It was Julia's favorite book; he'd given it to her for their two-month anniversary, and she'd read the whole thing in about three hours. Then she'd forced him to read every single Palahniuk author with her; they would go to the park and sit on a bench or at a picnic table, practically devouring the literature. When she would get to a passage she liked, she'd read it out loud to him, her voice bright and happy in a way that mostly contradicted the words she was reading.

_Birds._

_Birds ate my face._

He remembered that one time when he'd stopped by her house to surprise her; he'd been able to hear her parents screaming from ten feet outside the door. At first, he'd thought that her parents had marriage problems, but then he realized that it was _her _who they didn't like.

Julia had, eventually, told him the whole story. Her mother had died when she was a little kid, and when she was eleven, her father had remarried. From day one, her stepmother had tried to turn Julia's father against her, and he was so wrapped up in her that he started believing it. Julia told Eli bitterly how her stepmother had her father wrapped around her finger, that the only time he even noticed Julia anymore was when she had done something wrong. She went out of her way to impress him, to make him proud, to make him love her again, but he only ever noticed the mistakes she made.

She'd told him, several times, that he was all she had.

And he'd killed her.

He might as well have been driving that car. He might as well have picked up a gun and shot her. She'd trusted him, and he'd killed her.

Julia must have read _Invisible Monsters _cover to cover five or six times; whenever Eli caught her reading it, he would ask her teasingly if she'd memorized the whole book yet.

He could almost feel her presence, like part of her was inside that book, pieces of her woven into the pages.

God, he loved her so much.

_And he killed her._

000

Darcy knocked rapidly on the door, trying to fix a smile on her face, but she couldn't. Her baby sister, her _Clare Bear_, had tried to _kill _herself. Her little sister had attempted suicide, and she wouldn't tell anyone why.

Darcy remembered _that _day. It felt like an eternity ago, but at the same time, it seemed like it was yesterday that she had slit her wrists in the locker room. If her best friend hadn't found her, Darcy would be dead.

_What if Clare was raped?_

No. No, that couldn't happen. Darcy wouldn't _let _that happen.

But she hadn't been there. She'd left her sister all alone, to brave through her parents' divorce; had something happened with Helen and Randall? Something traumatic that had caused Clare to want to end her own life?

Helen answered the door, beaming, and through her arms around her eldest daughter. Darcy returned the hug; she hadn't seen her mother, father, or sister in, well, two or three years now, though they'd kept in touch through letters. She knew about her father's affairs with his supermodel-gorgeous secretary and the slightly less pretty but still unmistakably beautiful veterinarian who lived down the street. She knew about Clare's boyfriend, Mark- well, ex-boyfriend now. She knew that Clare had handcuffed her wrists together and tried to drown herself.

Oh, God. Clare had tried to drown herself.

And Darcy had left her all alone.

Darcy pulled away, tears welling in her eyes, as she attempted once more to smile. "It's so good to see you," she told her mother honestly.

"Oh, goodness, honey, you're all grown up now." Helen wasn't even trying to stop the tears from leaking out, but she was still beaming at her daughter.

"Where's Clare?" Darcy asked softly.

Helen wiped the tears away. "She's upstairs in her room; I think she's asleep."

Darcy gave her mother one more brief hug before walking into the house. It was almost exactly the way she remembered; same paint, same wallpaper, same shiny wooden floors. She made her way up the steps to Clare's room, easing the door open.

Her sister was, in fact, asleep. She'd cut her hair; short curls framed her face, and one arm was resting over the blankets. Darcy could see the healing bruise from where her sister's skin had rubbed and strained against the handcuffs; she could see a row of healed scars on the inside of her arm where Clare had cut herself, and the ghost of her own, healed scars tingled underneath her skin, even though it had been around three years since she'd pressed a blade to her flesh.

_What happened to you? _Darcy wanted to scream.

"_Darcy, to you want to meet your baby sister?"_

_Five-year-old Darcy stared up into her father's excited eyes and smiled. "Yes, please," she replied; her parents had taught her the manners that a proper Christian girl should have, and she was always proud to show them off._

_Randall led her into her mother's hospital room, where Helen was clutching a soft pink bundle. Darcy climbed up onto the bed beside her mother, staring at her little sister's sleeping face._

"_Darcy, honey, this is your little sister, Clare."_

_Darcy had never seen such a small, fragile person before._

"_Do you want to hold her?" Helen offered._

_Darcy held her baby sister in her arms, still staring at her. Clare looked so delicate, with tiny features and smooth pink skin. She was so tiny, and Darcy was afraid that she might drop her._

_Right there and then, she made her sister a promise, that she'd always look out of her. She'd always be there for Clare; she'd always protect her. She would always be her big sister._

"I'm sorry, Clare," Darcy found herself whispering. "I'm sorry for everything."

000

**A/N: So… Darcy. Yeah.**

**By the way, I watched Standing in the Dark (her rape episode) again yesterday, and I swear I almost cried. She's such a powerful character… and she needs to come back from Kenya. One semester does not equal three years, Darcy. To quote Michael Jackson, I WANT YOU BACK.**

**Anyways, review please! Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, you guys are awesome!**

**I do not own Degrassi.**


	4. Chapter 4

_Before_, Clare had always been pretty good at small talk. She could carry on a conversation with a complete stranger; if you smiled and acted cheery and interested enough, the person would keep talking, and all you had to do was act like you were listening. And when she actually was interested in what they were saying, she could sit there listening to them for hours at a time. She had the best manners, the sweetest smile; a good little Christian girl, through and through.

But now, she was sitting at a table with her own mother and sister, her own _family_, and she couldn't think of a single thing to say.

She had missed Darcy so much. The mail from Kenya wasn't exactly reliable, and on several occasions, Clare had nearly driven herself crazy worrying about whether or not Darcy's letter was lost in the mail. How many times had she thought that, maybe, if Darcy was there, Clare could talk to someone? How many times had Clare thought that it would be so much easier to open up to her sister than anyone else, that Darcy would understand?

And now they were eating dinner in silence, only two hours after Darcy had returned home for the first time in almost three years, with nothing to say.

Finally, Darcy cleared her throat. "How's Dad, Clare?" she asked carefully, knowing that Randall was a touchy subject. Not only because of his affairs with various women, but because the last time Clare had seen him when she was spending a week at his house by the beach, she had tried to kill herself two days into the vacation.

"He's good." Well, he had been, before his daughter had turned up in the hospital with lungs full of salt water, handcuffs still binding her arms together, and a death wish.

"And school starts next week, right? Are you still going to Lakehurst?"

Helen interjected. "We- well, your father and I- thought that it would be best if Clare here had a… change of scenery. She's going to Degrassi."

Darcy frowned. She had gone to high school at Degrassi, and Clare had grown up with both horror stories and tales of good times that centered on that school filled to the brim with drama.

"Degrassi?" Darcy echoed. She turned towards her sister, her eyes landing on her fingerless hand. Clare quickly hid both hands under the table, but the damage had been done.

"Clare, where's your purity ring?" Darcy asked softly.

Clare shrugged, forcing herself to act normal. She couldn't let them suspect what had happened. They'd hate her. She was dirty, disgusting; what had happened was all her fucking fault, and if they _knew _what had happened, if they knew the _truth_, they'd see that. They'd see the real her; that's what _he _had said. _He _was the only person who could love her, because no one else knew who she really was. If they did, they'd _hate _her.

"I lost it," she replied, fighting to keep her voice steady. "Pass the salt, please."

000

It seemed like every single damned time Eli walked into the Dot, Clare was there.

She was always sitting in a booth, and she almost never ordered anything other than a drink. She would have her iPod or laptop or a book with her, and she would be tucked away into her own little bubble, her own little world.

He didn't think that she ever noticed him staring. He'd tear his eyes away as soon as he himself realized it; sometimes he would just walk right back out of the Dot and wander off down the sidewalk in a random direction, often getting himself lost.

This time, when he saw her, drinking some clear liquid that could have been either water or Sprite or something, she was reading a book again.

_Brave New World _by Aldous Huxley.

Eli felt like he couldn't breathe.

_It was just a book. _

_Julia had borrowed it without asking him first; she'd bend the cover back and folded over the pages, and since Eli was a little OCD about keeping his books in perfect condition- they were arranged in alphabetical order by author on his bookshelf and everything- he'd been pretty pissed._

_It wasn't just that. It seemed like all Julia and Eli did these days was make each other mad, and both of them knew that they needed a break, but neither would be the first to show weakness and ask the other. The thing about Eli and Julia was that they were both extremely stubborn- pigheaded, really. Neither would be the first to back down._

_And so their anger at each other had been building up inside, like a volcano ready to blow, until they erupted._

_That happened in most of their fights. They'd start off arguing about something so small it was stupid, and then they would end up screaming at each other over something completely different. They'd be unbearably pissed for three or four hours, and then they'd cool down, call each other, and apologize. They loved each other, and all couples fought sometime or another, right?_

_They'd had a screaming match just like any other, and Eli knew that his neighbors would chew him out in the morning, but he didn't care. He knew that he should have just dropped it, but he couldn't._

_Julia yelled that it was just a goddamned book, that she'd buy him another copy if it meant that much to him, that she hadn't meant to make him mad. Their argument had evolved until she was screaming that he never appreciated anything she did anymore, that he never listened to her, and did he have to be such an ass to all of her friends?_

_She was right. He was an ass. Not just to her friends, to everyone. She'd told him on several occasions that, while he was easy to love, he was almost impossible to like._

_Eli had shouted that she was an inconsiderate bitch, that she never listened to him, either, and that everything was always about her. He'd let her move in with him, hadn't he?_

_He knew that he shouldn't have said that. He knew that it was unfair of him, that it wasn't her fault, that it wasn't even really true. He was just so angry, so pissed off, and not only at her. At the entire fucking world, but she was right there, and he knew that she would forgive him, so he took it all out on her._

_She was right._

_She always was._

_It was just a goddamned book._

Clare glanced up, meeting his eyes. She marked her page in the book, closed it, and gave him a shy, uncertain smile.

Eli couldn't breathe.

"Eli?" she called softly.

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't speak. He couldn't move.

"Eli?" she repeated, sounding confused.

_Brave new world. It's a brave new world._

_Birds. Birds ate my face._

_Sorry, Mom. Sorry, God._

He could hear Julia's clear voice, reading those words to him. He remembered how he felt like he was going to throw up everything he'd ever eaten when she read the story _Guts _in the Chuck Palahniuk book _Haunted _to him. He remembered how many times he'd told her not to mess up his books, and how she always managed, somehow, to tear or stain a page. And then, for some reason, he always turned to that exact same page next time he opened that book.

Clare stood up and stepped towards him, concerned, and said, "You okay? Eli?"

"Yeah?" he gasped faintly, barely able to hear himself.

"You look like you're gonna pass out or something. Come on." Her small hands took hold of his arm, leading him over to the booth. "Here. Sit down."

Eli couldn't stop staring at that damned book. The letters of the title blurred together; _…_

Clare swiped the book out of sight, hiding it in her lap under the table.

But he couldn't stop seeing it.

He couldn't stop seeing Julia throwing the paperback book at him as hard as she could.

He couldn't stop seeing the hurt, the anger and pain on her face before she turned and stomped away.

The worst part was, as she had slammed the door behind her so hard he could almost feel the entire house shaking, all he could think of was that he never wanted to see her again.

Well, he'd gotten his wish.

000

**A/N: I referenced about ten different books in this chapter (or three… same difference); **_**Haunted **_**and **_**Invisible Monsters **_**by Chuck Palahniuk and **_**Brave New World **_**by Aldous Huxley, all of which are really, really good books.**

**Anyways, I'm sorry if this chapter was kind of weird… and that Eli and Clare haven't really had that much interaction yet. It will happen! Patience is a virtue, my dears!**

**Review please! I do not own Degrassi.**


	5. Chapter 5

_The first time, he promised that it would never happen again._

_That was what they all said, but Clare believed him. She didn't have a reason not to._

_After all, she trusted him, her knight in shining armor. He'd just lost his temper. It was her fault, anyways; she _had _been flirting with that guy, sort of, even though she hadn't meant to. It would never happen again. She smiled at him; she forgave him like the good Christian girl she was. She gave him a second chance. And a third chance. And a fourth chance. And on and on and on._

_But that first time, she had been so sure._

_It was also the first time he told her he loved her._

_He took her face in his hands and said, "Oh, God, baby, I'm so fucking sorry. I didn't mean to. Oh, my God." He'd looked so damned guilty, so damned heartbroken, that she couldn't help but say, "It's okay. I forgive you." After all, she was only fourteen years old. He was her first boyfriend._

_And when he told her he loved her, she believed him, because she was fourteen and didn't know any better._

_When he said that if she was a good girl, it wouldn't happen, she believed him._

_She thought that life was all fairy tales and rainbows. She hadn't yet hit her reality check; her parents had hidden everything, even the truth about her own sister, from her, fearing that her innocence would be corrupted if she knew what the real world was like._

_It was ironic, though, how they'd trusted _him_._

_And he'd killed her inside._

Before, Clare had almost glowed with life and energy. Her best friend, Alli, had to practically tie ropes around her to keep her grounded to Earth. Her head was floating in the clouds; she thought that life was perfect and what she felt was true love.

After all, _he _said that he loved her, so she must love him. That was the way it worked, right? People didn't lie. Not about love. And he _said _he loved her.

No one would have ever guessed that Saint Clare would have tried to kill herself. She hid her secret so well; she was one damned good actress, one damned good liar, despite having no experience before then. When Alli asked how Clare got her black eye, she lied and said that she hit her head on a cabinet door she'd accidentally left open. She'd even added a lighthearted, oh-aren't-I-clumsy giggle at the end. The second time, when the bruise had been on her arm, she'd said that she'd tripped and fallen down the stairs. After that, she started wearing long sleeves and makeup to cover the bruises. And _he _got smarter; he learned to only hit her in places that clothing would cover.

Eventually, he dropped the _I'm so sorry _act. He told her that she was being bad, that she was a horrible person, that she deserved to be punished. He said that, if she would just follow the fucking rules, it wouldn't happen. That it was her fault and hers alone. She deserved it.

No one ever suspected just how much Clare believed his words.

000

"Adam? How about you?"

Throughout most of the therapy sessions, Adam hadn't said much. His silence wasn't as defiant as Eli's or as timid and uncertain as Clare's; it seemed like he was just naturally a quiet person.

Adam seemed to consider Dr. Alger's words for a moment, and then shook his head wordlessly.

Beside him, Fiona patted his arm, smiling reassuringly. They were close in the brother-sister way; after all, Fiona was lesbian, and Adam was… well, Adam was different. None of them knew very much about Adam. Apparently, Drew's father had dated Adam's mother for a little while following both of their divorces, but they'd never really clicked, and Drew had only met Adam once or twice.

Small world, huh?

"It's okay," Fiona whispered, so quietly that Eli barely managed to hear. "It's better, to just get it out. To get it off your chest."

Eli glanced around the circle and, for the millionth time, realized all over again how strange the seven of them would look to the outside world. Drew, his arm still in a sling; Adam, who walked with a permanent limp now; Fiona, who looked like she should have been shopping on Broadway than here with these _suicides_; Bianca, who was confined to a wheelchair after shattering both of her legs from the fall; Dr. Alger, all calm and collected, smiling and asking them what they were _feeling_; Clare, with her denim and bright blue eyes, so lost and broken from her own mind; and then Eli, sullen and hostile, nearly always silent and dressed fully in black.

Oh, yes. They were the _definition _of normal.

"I… I'm transgender. My mom… she keeps calling me _Gracie_. She just can't accept that… that I'm a guy. And the people at my school… well, they don't like people who are different."

And then, as Adam talked, Eli realized what was happening.

Dr. Alger was shaping them, forming them like wet clay into people who _she _thought were acceptable. She was teaching them to let their guard down, to trust each other, to _befriend _each other. They would be _friends_, they would smile and laugh and trust each other and let their walls come down, and they would betray and lie to and fight each other, but in the end, they would always _forgive _each other.

Because this group, this therapy, this circle of too-comfortable chairs and too-understanding eyes; this was all they had.

This was all they would ever have.

They were _pathetic._ All of them.

But this was his life now.

This was all Elijah Goldsworthy would ever be.

A _suicide._

000

Ever since the… _incident _at the Dot with that _goddamned book_, Eli had taken to always sitting with Clare.

They hardly ever talked. Clare would be reading or something, though she never brought _Brave New World _again, and Eli would just stare off into space, trying his hardest not to think. He didn't think, he didn't speak, he just breathed. In, out. Calm.

Or, at least, as calm as he could be.

Then, one day- it was a Saturday- Clare spoke to him.

She didn't even glance up from her book. She just said, in a small, quiet voice, "Tell me about you."

Maybe because he was surprised that she had talked to him. Maybe because the silence was stiffening, suffocating. Maybe it was because he was so desperate for someone, _anyone _to care, even though he didn't expect Clare to. For God's sake, he _just _met the girl.

But for whatever reason, he started talking.

He said, "I'm Eli. I tried to kill myself." Echoing Clare's earlier words; _no fucking shit_, he tried to kill himself.

She asked, "How?"

It was in a monotone, blank voice. She still didn't glance up, but again, he somehow felt compelled to answer.

"I… I slit my wrists." Well, it wasn't entirely a lie, but Eli wasn't ready to let his guard down just yet. He wasn't ready to tell this blue-eyed Clare about Julia.

Julia was _his_, and his alone.

Clare finally glanced up, and she murmured, "I'm sorry. Whatever it was, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Eli replied automatically.

But it wasn't.

And, staring into Clare's eyes, he could tell that she knew. That tiny smile, the way she glanced down towards the floor, he _knew _that she actually understood. She wasn't pretending; it wasn't an act. She _knew_.

Nothing was okay.

Nothing would ever be okay again.

Because Julia was dead, and he had blood on his hands.

He was Elijah Goldsworthy, and she was Clare Edwards.

They were the _suicides_.

000

**A/N: Yes, I'm keeping Clare's past kind of cryptic for a reason, but I think that you guys will be able to piece most of it together now.**

**They're going to start school at Degrassi next chapter, by the way. I'll probably post that chapter Thursday or Friday… my Internet's been kind of annoying lately, though, so I'm not sure. I'll have it up as soon as I can!**

**I do not own Degrassi. Review please!**


	6. Chapter 6

_And in a burst of light that blinded every angel_

_As if the sky had blown the heavens into stars_

_You felt the gravity of tempered grace_

_Falling into empty space_

_No one there to catch you in their arms_

_Do you feel cold_

_And lost in desperation_

_You build up hope_

_But failure's all you've ever know_

_Remember all the sadness and frustration_

_And let it go_

_Let it go_

_-Iridescent by Linkin Park_

000

High school.

Now, if those two words don't strike fear into your heart, there is something _seriously _wrong with you.

It was going to be the beginning of Clare's sophomore year. She should have been excited. These were supposed to be the best years of her life, when she tried new things and made lifelong friends.

Oh, wait. That was college, right?

Clare's fingers were locked around the door handle, her eyes nearly bulging out of her head as she stared at Degrassi Community School with a mixture of awe and fear. She felt like she was staring at a five-car pileup on the highway; something so horrible, she should have averted her eyes, but she couldn't stop looking in a kind of sick fascination.

Last year, the fact that she just compared high school to a horrific car accident would have made her giggle, and then she'd rush to clue Alli in on the joke as soon as she saw her best friend.

But that was last year. She didn't even go to the same school as Alli anymore.

"Clare? Is everything okay?"

Darcy's voice sounded faded, like Clare was hearing it through a long, dark tunnel. Like Darcy was trying to guide her to the light at the end, but Clare couldn't tell where her voice was coming from. A dark cavern of echoing emptiness deep under the surface of the earth.

One could only wonder how she got that from four simple words.

"Clare, you don't have to go to Degrassi. If you want, I can talk to Mom about re-enrolling you at Lakehurst-"

"No!" Clare almost shouted.

Darcy seemed shocked by her sister's outburst. "But you'd be around all your friends and everything. And I know Mark broke up with you, but-"

"It's okay," Clare interrupted quickly, struggling not to cringe at the sound of _his _name. "Mom's right. I… I need a change of scenery. It'll be good for me."

Considering that that was the most Clare had spoken to her sister since Darcy had returned from Kenya, it seemed to satisfy her.

It wasn't that Clare was purposefully ignoring Darcy. It was just that she didn't know what to say, so it was better to say nothing at all.

"You're sure that you'll be okay?" Darcy asked worriedly. "I mean, you don't know anyone here…"

That wasn't entirely true. Everyone in Clare's group therapy- or support group, whatever it was called- with the exception of Dr. Alger, of course, went to school at Degrassi. Fiona, Adam, Drew, Bianca, _Eli_. Five familiar faces, and Fiona and Adam seemed friendly enough. She wasn't sure what to think of Eli. Sure, they sat together at that little coffee shop thing- the Dot, was it?- but they almost never talked. She had so many things she wanted to ask him, but then she'd have to expect questions in return, and she was afraid of her own answers.

"See you later," Clare mumbled, fumbling with the door handle and almost falling out of the car. She caught her balance, gripping her backpack like it was her lifeline- _oh, how pathetic- _and started off towards the rest of her life.

Degrassi Community School.

The future.

Once a promise, now a threat.

Because Clare Edwards was still hiding. She had a secret that she couldn't share, that no one could know. In her downward spiral, she'd somehow managed to crash straight through rock bottom; now she was free falling.

And no one was ever going to catch her.

000

He could hear them, whispering about him, as if they had nothing better to do with their time. Of course, they somehow ignored the fact that over the course of the summer, Fiona, Adam, Bianca, and Drew had also attempted suicide. Five students from Degrassi; what a great school, what a fucking _perfect _group of kids.

But Eli was the one everyone focused on. He was _that kid with the dead girlfriend_. He was _that emo dude with the black clothes. _He was _that guy with the hearse._

He was the one with a reputation, with questionable morals and an even more questionable mental stability.

Oh, he was fucking _crazy_, all right.

_I heard he killed his girlfriend._

_I heard he stabbed her to death._

_I heard he hid her body in his hearse for a week until someone noticed the smell._

_Why haven't they arrested him yet?_

_Not enough evidence, I guess._

_No, he pleaded insanity, I think._

Those fucking _idiots_.

God, he _hated _high school.

_He tried to kill himself._

_The guilt got to him._

_He's fucking insane._

_I heard he just snapped and killed her all of the sudden._

_That poor, poor girl._

_That poor, poor Julia._

Never mind the fact that almost none of them knew Julia- she'd gone to Lakehurst instead of Degrassi- and most of the ones that did hated her because she was a little bit different. Never mind that they had nothing to support anything they said.

Didn't they have anything better to do with their time?

_I heard they had to shock him six times before his heart started beating again._

_Shouldn't have bothered._

_He's better off dead._

_I heard he killed his girlfriend…_

It was like they didn't think that he could hear them or something, like they thought he couldn't see their swift, poisoned glances. Then they'd turn back to each other and _whisper-whisper-whisper _again. Stage whisper. Loud whisper. Maybe they wanted him to hear them.

He hoped that the others were enjoying their invisibility.

He remembered Julia's voice, reading to him, _"If I can't be beautiful, I want to be invisible."_

By now, he'd found a way to keep the tears on the inside.

000

Clare had managed to suffer through the first four hours. Mostly, people stayed away from her, as if she gave off some _stay the hell away _vibe. She wasn't sure if she was grateful or not; part of her really wanted to make some new friends, but the rest of her was actually _happy _that she was alone. There was no one who she would have to talk to, no reason for her to put on a fake smile and pretend like she was just any other new kid.

Of course, a few people said hi to her, but they must have figured that she was shy or something. In truth, she just really, really didn't want to talk to them.

And then she had the brilliant luck to recognize exactly zero people in the cafeteria.

If she sat alone, at least three people would take pity on her and sit with her. And then they'd expect her to talk. And she _didn't want to talk_.

Clare scanned the cafeteria again, and this time, her eyes landed on a familiar wheelchair, the girl sitting alone at a table.

Bianca DeSousa.

Clare sat down timidly across from her, half expecting the girl to _literally _bite her head off or something. Bianca glanced up and raised her eyebrows briefly before looking back down at her food, pushing it around with a fork.

"Um… can I sit here?"

Bianca shrugged. "Do whatever you want," she replied indifferently.

This was the closest Clare would ever come to friends at Degrassi, she realized. Sitting with someone in complete silence, staring off into empty space.

Crippled Bianca DeSousa and formerly _Saint _Clare Edwards.

This was what the world had come to.

000

If there was one rule that Darcy remembered from living with Clare, it was to never, under any circumstances, move _anything _in her bedroom.

And since Darcy was staying in the guest bedroom, she really had no reason to ever go into Clare's room. But, for some reason, she wanted to see the place she had once shared with her sister, _before_. Before Darcy had snuck out to go to that stupid party. Before she'd had a fight with Peter and Manny and gotten stone-dead drunk. Before some guy had drugged and raped her. Before she'd slit her wrists in the locker room showers. Before she'd forced herself to leave everything behind and move to _Kenya_ for a _change of scenery._

Before _everything_, she'd shared a bedroom with her sister. Her long-haired little sister with the dorky glasses and braces.

So much had changed.

Darcy opened the door slowly; she knew that she had no reason to step foot in this place ever again. After all, Clare was at school, and all of Darcy's belongings were in the guest bedroom.

She stepped inside, glancing around. It was almost exactly like she remembered; neat and almost obsessively clean.

Darcy turned towards the bookshelves, tracing one finger along the rows of titles and authors. A single one caught her eye; it was a small, spiral notebook. Clare's diary.

She shouldn't.

It was wrong of her to be in here without her sister's permission, but it would be even _worse _if she invaded Clare's privacy in such an awful way. Sooner or later, Clare would tell them what had happened. She would tell them what was wrong. She just needed time and space; she'd come around when she was ready.

For now, Darcy decided to let her sister keep her secrets.

For now.

000

"How was school?" Helen asked anxiously.

Clare stood uncertainly in the doorway, wondering, once again, how to answer. _"Oh, it went fine. I made exactly zero new friends, the only names I remember are the people from my therapy group, and I spent the entire lunch period in silence with an _extremely _intimidating girl in a wheelchair. No sarcasm."_

"It was good," she mumbled instead.

"Really? You make any new friends?"

Helen was talking to her in a voice that suggested that Clare was about six years old. "Yeah," she lied. No need to rain on her mother's parade- that was the right expression, right? "Um, I… I'm meeting one of them at the Dot in a few minutes… is that okay?"

Helen nodded happily. "Of course! You go spend time with your friends, Clare. Um, be home by nine, okay?"

"Okay."

Of course, Clare had no plans to meet anyone at the Dot. She just hoped that Eli would be there, that she could just… relax. That she could let the silence between them speak the words that she was too afraid to voice.

000

Eli waited, watching the door. Patience had never been one of his strong points, and he was about three seconds away from leaping to his feet and going out looking for her.

Which would be a really stupid reaction, considering how he'd barely known Clare for… two weeks, maybe? To be honest, he didn't know how much time had passed since she'd sat down beside him in that circle of chairs.

But he'd become almost dependant on sitting there with Clare almost every day. It didn't matter that they rarely spoke to each other; actually, he preferred it that way. Clare was the only person who he didn't have to explain himself to. On the rare occasions when she asked him something, she didn't expect an answer. It was… refreshing, to say the least.

The door opened, and Clare stepped inside, smiling slightly at him. He tried his best to smile back; he really was happy to see her, for some reason.

Clare sat down across from him, drumming her small fingers lightly on the table. "Hi," she whispered, avoiding his eyes.

"Hey," he replied quietly. "So, um… how do you like Degrassi?"

She shrugged. "I'm in your English class…"

Eli nodded. Clare had to be one damned smart girl to be in advanced eleventh grade English when she was only a sophomore.

She gestured towards his untouched coffee. "Mind if I…?"

"It's black," he warned.

She shrugged again, picking it up and taking a small sip, wrinkling her nose at the taste as if to say, Yeah, it is.

Eli rubbed his left forearm absentmindedly, remembering the tip of the knife pressing into his arm. The blood, everywhere.

That was what love truly was.

That was what the world had come to.

_000_

**A/N: You guys can probably put most of the pieces together now, right? And I know that I use the song Iridescent in a lot of my fanfics, but I just thought that it fit pretty well with this chapter. Good stuff to come, I promise.**

**Anyways… review please!**

**I do not own Degrassi, Iridescent, Linkin Park, or any book/song/anything that I referenced in this chapter.**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Shit. Typo.**

**Last chapter, when Darcy said "Jake," I meant to type "Mark." **

**So I went back and changed it… but just for the record, for those of you who saw it, it was a typo. I didn't even notice until a couple of you guys pointed it out, and I'm not sure how many of you saw it.**

**And now I feel like an idiot.**

**Anyway, enjoy this chapter…**

000

_The first time Clare felt the first hint of dread started in a casual conversation._

_Mark had dated a _lot _of girls._

_They were talking about exes, which was a pretty touchy subject, apparently. Clare had one; KC Guthrie. He'd cheated on her with her ex-best friend, Jenna Middleton._

_Mark, on the other hand, had a… reputation as a player. Clare never believed the rumors; they were spread by jealous people, and she believed in giving everyone the benefit of the doubt._

"_So, KC," Mark repeated._

"_Yeah. For, like, two months," Clare explained hurriedly._

_He wrapped one arm around her shoulders, leaning in close to her, so his breath washed over her ear. "You don't still like him, do you?" His voice was low, almost dangerous._

"_No," Clare replied steadily. What was wrong with him? He'd never acted like this before._

"_Well, Edwards," he sighed, leaning back again and smirking. "I don't care whose bitch you were before. You're _my _bitch now."_

"Clare? Would you like to talk today?"

It was too easy to be fooled by Dr. Alger, her steady and calm voice. She wanted Clare to talk, to spill all of her secrets, and then she would just turn around and hate her, like everyone would. The world had no place for people like Clare. _He _told her that he was the only person who could ever love her, and she believed him. If they knew what really happened, they'd hate her.

Clare didn't want to talk. She didn't want to tell anyone _anything_.

This was her secret, and hers alone.

It was the only thing left that was really hers anymore, and she would guard it with her pathetic excuse for a life.

_You're my bitch now._

"Not really," Clare replied. Her voice was more than steady; it was empty, completely expressionless.

Dr. Alger changed tactics. "How are you feeling today, Clare?"

"I'm not going to kill myself, if that's what you're asking." Clare wanted to- God, she wanted to just pick up the gun or knife or _something_ and make it all _end_- but the universe seemed hell-bent on keeping her alive, like it got a kick out of watching her suffer.

_It's a mad, mad world…_

"That's what I'm asking," Dr. Alger clarified.

"Well, I'm not. And I don't want to talk."

"You don't have to," Dr. Alger reassured her. "No one has to talk until they're ready, okay?"

What she didn't understand, what _no one _understood, was that Clare would _never _be ready.

Right now, at that exact moment in time, she did want one thing. She wanted to go to sleep and never wake up. She wanted to forget everything that happened in an eternity of nothing.

Was that too much to ask?

000

_Their first date was a disaster._

_Eli was so nervous- hell, who wouldn't be?- that he stuttered like an idiot every time Julia asked him something, trying to make small talk. It should have been easy, effortless. They'd been good friends for a few months at the time, but he couldn't look at her without wondering how the hell he managed to get such a damned gorgeous girl to go out with him. That day, she wasn't Jules, his quirky, smart, ridiculous friend. She was Julia, first-date Julia, and he fully expected her to be last-date Julia, too._

_She just smiled and laughed, and then at the end, she said, "This was fun. Let's do it again sometime." You know, like all the girls in the movies did. Julia, the aspiring movie star. Well, except for that she hated attention and acting._

_It wasn't the first time he'd kissed her, either, but it felt like it._

_Because, goddamn it, he was nervous as hell._

_He expected that to be it. He thought he'd blown the whole thing._

_But she surprised him._

_Julia always surprised everyone._

Eli couldn't write.

He had some stupid assignment for English, the whole cliché "How I Spent My Summer" prompt, and he had no idea what to say.

_I spent my summer grieving over the death of my girlfriend and recovering from a suicide attempt._

_I spent my summer hating myself for what I did._

_I spent my summer staring at her picture for hours at a time._

_I spent my summer at the graveyard, trying to think of words I'd want her to hear, but nothing ever came out._

His frustration got to the point where he just wanted to throw the damned computer out the window or something, but he just clenched his fists and counted backwards from ten. That worked in the books, right?

_Ten, nine, eight…_

Yeah, wasn't helping.

_Julia had never really understood his fascination with writing. "It's just words," she said. "Words that tell a story, but just words. It's so concrete."_

_She was an artist. A painter. He'd bought her that really expensive set of acrylic paints for their six-month anniversary, and she'd just gone completely crazy over the damned thing._

"_You see," she continued, "Look at a painting. An abstract painting. Every person who sees that painting will see it differently. That painting will speak to everyone differently. Words can't do that. You read a story, and there's only so many ways you can interpret it." She gestured towards the wall of her room, which was plastered with her drawings, her canvases nailed to the wall. "Look at that one." She pointed to some green and blue and grey twisty-tornado thing with this really weird streaks of bright, metallic silver. "What do you see?"_

_Eli studied the canvas for a minute or two and then replied, "Paint."_

He switched to taking deep breaths. Counting his breaths. Counting goddamned sheep. The frustration, the anxiety, was gone, but he didn't have that… _inspiration_. Last year, he'd twisted every English assignment into something that actually interested him, but he had an amazing ability to stay on topic enough to still get his perfect A.

This year, everything was different.

This year, he didn't have Julia.

_How I Spent My Summer_ in five hundred words.

Five hundred damned words.

It shouldn't be _that _hard.

_I spent my summer in hell…_

000

Darcy really wasn't the type of person who got all up in your face, who demanded to know all your secrets, who stuck her nose in your personal business.

But she couldn't get Clare's diary out of her head.

If she just read the damned thing, she could _know_. She could _know _what had happened to her baby sister, and she could _help _Clare.

But if she did, she'd betray her sister's trust. And Darcy couldn't do that. She couldn't let Clare down, not again. Clare had to have at least _one _person who she could trust, and Darcy wanted that to be her. She wanted her little sister to trust her.

Even though Clare was fifteen, even though she was a teenager, even though she was in high school, Darcy always thought of her as that pink-faced little baby she'd held in the hospital, the baby she'd sworn to protect forever, the baby she'd sworn to be there for.

Five-year-old Darcy couldn't have predicted what would happen.

Five-year-old Darcy thought that the worst thing in the world was when she fell down and scraped her knee or Mommy and Daddy told her that she couldn't go over to her friend's house to play.

Five-year-old Darcy didn't know what she was really promising.

But she'd _promised _anyways.

And now twenty-year-old Darcy was going to keep that promise.

Because she couldn't let her little sister down again.

000

Eli didn't even try to write the essay.

He could see the disappointment in Ms. Dawes's eyes, and he felt a little pissed off himself. She was the only teacher in the entire damn place who didn't treat him like he was made of glass or some shit like that, and he'd completely blown his only chance at normalcy.

"Mr. Goldsworthy," Ms. Dawes sighed, and then closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She reminded Eli of himself, except she wasn't completely fucking insane.

"Mr. Goldsworthy," she repeated, "Is there a _reason _why you didn't write your essay?"

Eli shrugged. "I didn't have anything to write about."

"Lacking inspiration?"

"Yeah."

"Well, maybe your English partner will help with that."

Eli raised his eyebrows and echoed, "English partner?"

Ms. Dawes nodded. "You know Clare, right?"

000

**A/N: Sorry for the short chapter… I've been trying to make them longer, but I felt like I should just end it there.**

**Anyways, thank you to everyone who reviewed last chapter!**

**I do not own Degrassi.**


	8. Chapter 8

_Cover up with makeup in the mirror_

_Tell yourself it's never gonna happen again_

_You cry alone and then he swears he loves you_

_Do you feel like a man when you push her around?_

_Do you feel better now as she falls to the ground?_

_-Facedown by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus_

000

Clare hated the cafeteria.

There were so many damned _people_ there. So many bodies brushing up against hers, so many people breathing and recycling the same air, so many voices blending together into a mind-numbing babble of noise. It was horrible, _suffocating_, and every time she stepped into that place, she could almost _feel _her skin crawling.

So she was leaning back against the cold metal of the lockers, closing her eyes and soaking up the silence. The hallways were quiet; everyone who wasn't in the cafeteria was in a classroom, and Clare knew that if any teachers caught her in the hallways without a pass, she'd probably be in pretty deep shit.

Footsteps echoed down the otherwise silent hallway, and Clare tensed, about to run away like a scared little girl, like a cowardly child.

"Clare?"

She glanced away, unable to meet Eli's eyes, and demanded, "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," he pointed out.

It was the first time that they'd actually had a real conversation in school; mostly they just sat in silence at the Dot or stared at the floor or wall in Dr. Alger's group therapy.

"I hate the cafeteria," she blurted out. She felt like there was something, some slimy deep-sea creature sliding its tentacles under her skin, and she shuddered. The _thought _of so many people brushing against her… she couldn't stand any kind of physical contact.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Eli suggested. His voice was soft, quiet, but he sounded sincere, like he really wanted to spend time with her.

"Where would we go?" Clare asked.

Eli shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Clare closed her eyes tightly. _I can trust him, I can trust him, I can trust him_. But she couldn't trust anyone, not anymore, and _especially _not someone who she didn't really know. Not after… not after what happened with _him_, with _Mark_.

"Sure," she replied, unable to stop her voice from trembling. "Just get me out of here."

000

_When he was mad, he would hit her. That was the way her world worked._

_Clare spent every moment with him trying to keep him happy, because when he was in a good mood, he was amazing. He would talk and laugh and his eyes would shine at her and it was just… amazing. He would throw his arm around her shoulders and pull her in close beside him. He would show her off to all of his friends proudly, tell them all these good things about her. He was so nice, so funny, so smart, and she could tell herself that she was overreacting; or, better yet, that it had all been just a bad dream. She could tell herself that the painful bruises hidden by long sleeves were just figments of her imagination._

_And then he would be pissed, for whatever reason, and then he would drink. When he drank, he turned into some stranger, someone she didn't even know. Or maybe that was the real him, and the happy, laughing boyfriend she said she loved was just a face he hid behind._

_He would yell at her, and she'd shrink back against the wall, tremble, bite her lip so hard it would bleed to keep from screaming in fear. And then she'd bite her lip harder so she wouldn't cry out in pain when his fists connected with her face, her stomach; when his hands gripped her arms so hard she could feel him cutting off the flow of blood. He would throw her to the ground and kick her; he would throw things, push her around, and she had to take it, because it was always worse when she tried to defend herself._

_And then he'd pull her to her feet, and she'd stare into his half-crazed eyes. She could smell the beer and cigarettes on his breath, and then he kissed her, his lips crushing against hers, and she wanted to cry. She didn't do anything, she _couldn't _do anything, except for let the tears flow silently down her cheeks._

_That was the way it was._

_But one time, one day, he didn't stop at a kiss._

Clare watched as Eli absentmindedly rubbed his arm through his long sleeves, staring off into space as he always did. He didn't seem to notice her staring; she couldn't help but wonder what he was covering, what was behind his eyes, what destructive force was at work in his mind.

She'd agreed to skip the rest of the day with him simply because she _needed _to. She _needed _a break; she _needed _to have some time away from the chaos that was high school, because everything and everyone seemed to remind her of _him_.

Even Eli did, sometimes. When their eyes would meet, she could feel chills go up her spine, just because she remembered when Mark told her that she had _pretty eyes_. When his hand accidentally brushed hers, she wanted to just burst into tears. When he stared at her, his eyes narrowed in suspicion at some odd behavior, she wanted to run away, to leap right back into that ocean and do it right this time.

She would never be able to truly forget what had happened to her.

If she hadn't trusted Mark so absolutely, if she hadn't believed everything he'd said, if she'd just been _good_, it never would have happened.

"What happened?" she asked quietly, almost afraid to speak the words. What would Eli do if she got him mad? Would he be like Mark? Would he yell? Would he hit her? Would the littlest things set him off?

"What do you mean?"

Clare pointed at his arm, her hand shaking a little. "Your arm. What happened?"

She didn't expect him to trust her with the answer. Hell, she didn't trust him, even though he hadn't given her a reason not to; she didn't even trust herself.

Eli hesitated, his eyes wandering around the room, and then he pushed up his sleeve to the elbow. Clare's eyes widened, and she couldn't hold back a shocked gasp.

He had the name _JULIA _carved into his arm, dark scars standing out like shining beacons on his pale skin. The letter _A _ended in a deep slash over his wrist; the scar there was a deeper color than the others, standing out more than the other letters.

Clare couldn't speak. She couldn't do anything but stare at the scars.

Finally, she whispered, "Julia?"

"My girlfriend," he replied, and he sounded so sad, so broken, that she felt like her heart was breaking.

Over someone who was practically a _stranger _to her.

"She died," he added, his voice a little choked.

Clare wanted to reach out and hug him. She wanted to wrap her arms around him and promise him that it was okay, that everything was okay.

But she couldn't lie to him.

And she didn't trust herself to comfort him.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled instead.

"Yeah," Eli sighed, pulling his sleeve back down. "Me too."

_We all have scars. Physical or emotional, it doesn't matter, because they'll always be there, no matter what._

_Because we'll never get rid of them._

_I'll never get rid of my scars._

_I'll never be able to forget._

000

"Eli, baby boy, I know you miss her."

Eli knew that his mother was just trying to help. And, yeah, he loved CeCe; he figured he could have had worse parents. He knew that she was only worried, and to be honest, he didn't blame her. Her son had tried to kill himself a couple months or so after his girlfriend was killed in a hit-and-run accident; she had a right to be worried.

But at that moment, he just wanted her to go away.

"I know that you don't want to talk about it, but Dr. Alger's just trying to help. We're all just trying to help, and you have to tell us _something_."

"What do you want me to say?" Eli demanded, and then flinched. He hadn't meant for his words to sound so harsh, so cold.

"I want you to tell me that you're not going to hurt yourself again. I want you to promise me that I won't have to sit in a hospital waiting room again and wonder whether you're going to live. I _need _you to promise that you'll try to help yourself, Eli, because we can't do everything for you."

Eli couldn't promise that.

He didn't want to hurt himself again. He didn't want to kill himself.

But he deserved to be in pain. He deserved to go to the place Christians called hell; he deserved to suffer forever for what he had done.

Those Christians, those church-goers, those people who were so pigheaded and stubborn, they were right about everyone being sinners.

But they were wrong about hell.

You didn't have to wait until you were dead to get there.

Eli stared straight into his mother's eyes and replied, "I promise."

He was lying, of course. He couldn't promise that; he couldn't promise anything.

But the relief that took over CeCe's eyes was worth it, worth the white lies.

He was just telling her what she needed to hear.

He loved her. She was his mother, after all. He wasn't supposed to lie to her.

But he had to. For both of them. For the sake of his whole world, he had to lie, because that was all he was now; a liar and a killer.

He was in hell, trapped in his own mind, and there was no getting out.

000

**A/N: I know it's been a long time since I've updated, and I'm really sorry! I was really busy this weekend and I never really got around to finishing this chapter until today.**

**Anyways, someone's getting shot this week! Everyone seems to think that it's Adam, and the promos seem to point in that direction, but we all know how promos can be misleading. Still, if Adam is shot, he's not going to die. He's even more loved than JT was!**

**If they do kill off Adam, I'm going to be caught between catching the first flight to Canada to murder those writers and crying my eyes out in a corner.**

**I hope you guys liked this chapter! Review please!**

**I do not own Degrassi or Facedown by Red Jumpsuit Apparatus.**


	9. Chapter 9

Darcy picked up Clare's diary, holding it tightly in both hands.

It would be wrong, so wrong, of her to read it. She would be a _horrible _person to invade her baby sister's privacy in such an extreme way.

But what if Clare hurt herself again, and no one could help her because no one knew what was wrong?

Doing the wrong thing for the right reason. The ends justify the means.

If Clare ever found out, she would hate Darcy. She would never trust her again.

And it was a risk that Darcy would have to take- for Clare. She'd promised Clare that she would always protect her, and she'd failed. Now, though, she could make it right. She could help her sister.

She opened to the first page and began to read.

_May 9, 2009_

_Got a letter from Darcy today. She says that everything's good in Kenya, and that she doesn't know how much longer she'll be there. I know that she's doing what God wants her to do, with charity and all, but I really miss her. I hope she comes home soon, and I know that if I asked, she would, but it would be really selfish of me to take her away from the people who really need her just because I miss her._

That was only a little more than two years before. Darcy felt tears welling up in her eyes as she realized exactly how much her sister had changed in such a short amount of time; she had once been so kind, so sweet, so innocent, and now she was distant, removed, _empty_, and it just about broke Darcy's heart.

Darcy skipped ahead a few pages and kept reading, casting a few guilty glances over her shoulder to make sure that no one would walk in and catch her reading Clare's diary. She felt like a child, a little kid with her hand in the cookie jar, listening intently for any sign of footsteps, for a door creaking open, for any warning that someone was coming.

_May 23, 2009_

_I got in a fight with Alli today, and I'd rather not say why. Sometimes I really wonder why I'm friends with her, as horrible as that sounds, but then she goes and does something really nice and spontaneous or she's just so Alli that I have to forgive her. She's like a sister to me…_

More tears, and Darcy raised a shaky hand to wipe them away. Alli had been more of a sister to Clare these past few years than Darcy had.

She skipped ahead again, more than a few pages this time, hoping to get some clue of why Clare had… done what she had done.

_September 30, 2009_

_Another letter from Darcy. You know, all of her letters are starting to sound the same around now, but I guess that's a good thing. At least she's okay, and that's all that I can ask for._

_October 4, 2009_

_Alli and I are starting to think about what we're going to be for Halloween. I know that we're too old to go trick-or-treating, but old habits die hard, I guess, and it's kind of a tradition of ours. We've coordinated our outfits every year since we were in second grade, and I don't want to stop that anytime soon._

Another handful of pages flipped past.

_December 25, 2009_

_Christmas._

_The snow's falling outside, and it's just perfect. Everything is absolutely perfect. The only thing that could possibly make this Christmas better was if Darcy was home, but we got a letter from her this morning, and I'll take what I can get. Today was… magical. There's no other word for it._

Darcy closed Clare's diary and slid it back into her bookshelf. Those words were not written by the same girl who wore now Clare's face and spoke in her voice. Her sister had changed, and Darcy didn't know why.

She didn't want to know why.

She didn't want to know what horrific twist in fate, what terrible joke life had played on Clare, that had changed her so much.

It was selfish of her. She knew that it was.

But she couldn't read another word of this. She couldn't take it anymore.

Maybe one day- maybe tomorrow, maybe next week- she'd be able to just suck it up and gather the courage to know what happened.

But for now, all she could do was hope against hope that Clare would get better on her own, that it was just a one-time, stupid thing that she'd decided in the depths of some depressed rut she was stuck in, that it would all be better soon.

Even though Darcy knew that that wasn't true, that that wouldn't happen.

_God helps those who help themselves…_

000

Clare dropped the towel and stepped into the shower, pulling the curtain closed behind her. The water was so hot it nearly burned, and she tilted her head backwards, closing her eyes tightly.

She could still feel _him_, his hands on her skin, his fingers roughly grabbing her, his lips, his _teeth_.

Every word.

Every touch.

Every kiss.

It was all a lie.

Every second he was around her had left a footprint on her, had tainted a separate piece of her.

Clare grabbed the washcloth and scrubbed at her skin blindly, wanting to wash everything away. She didn't know how many showers she'd taken since _that day_, but it didn't help. Nothing ever did. Not even leaping into that salty, churning water had cleansed her of _him_.

She could feel her skin chafing, and she didn't care. She kept scrubbing at herself, sobbing now, until the burning hot water ran cold.

Shivering, Clare turned the water off and stepped out into the bathroom, picking the crumpled towel up off of the floor and wrapping it around herself.

Eli wasn't the only one with scars. The only difference was that no one could see Clare's, that no one cared enough to.

Before she really realized what she was doing, Clare grabbed a razor from under the sink, fumbling with it, her fingers wet and shaky, until she removed the sharp blade, holding it against the inside of her arm about halfway down from her elbow.

Water couldn't wash the feeling away.

Maybe blood was the answer that could wipe the slate clean.

Clare pressed the sharp edge harder against her skin until she drew a thin line of blood, gasping slightly in pain. She pressed harder, pulling it slowly across her arm, thin trickles of blood running down her arm. She pulled the blade away, gasping again as the edges of the cut pulled at the blade, and examined the wound.

Pain.

She could feel it, rushing through her, flowing in her veins. She could feel the _release_, every feeling falling straight out of her, every thought in her mind replaced by the throbbing pain of the cut.

Clare pressed the razor against her arm again, lost in her own little world of pain and release, of mistakes and relief.

She hated herself.

Oh, God. She hated herself.

She hated everything about herself.

Clare slashed at her arm again, because she deserved the pain.

She deserved _everything._

000

"_You know that I love you, right? You know that I really, really love you. More than I've ever loved anyone in my entire life."_

"_I love you to, Jules. Um… what's this about?"_

"_I want to spend the night with you."_

They'd only really done, um, _that _every once in a while, not all the time. Julia hadn't wanted sex to take over their relationship, and though it frustrated Eli sometimes, he didn't want to be that stereotypical asshole of a boyfriend who pressured his girlfriend into intimacy. He never pushed her into doing anything she didn't want to do, and if sometimes it drove him crazy when he was really, really turned on and she wasn't in the mood, well, that was _his _problem.

You see, Eli wasn't really a bad guy.

Not in that way, at least.

Actually, he was so _terrified _of doing something wrong, of doing something that she didn't like, that _she _usually had to be the one to initiate it. He would really get on her nerves sometimes, always asking "Is this okay? Are you sure? Is this okay?"

And she would just roll her eyes, and sometimes she would laugh and he would laugh right along with her, but really, if he was nervous when he simply _kissed _her… well, you can figure out the rest, right?

But, somehow, it was still perfect, in its own flawed, twisted way.

Everything about them was imperfectly perfect.

And now everything about Eli was _just_ imperfect.

Clare was crying, and Eli didn't know why. Slow tears were leaking out of her eyes, one by one, tears that she was angrily wiping away as she glared into her locker, one hand clenched on the door and the other curled into a tight fist at her side. Eli didn't know why she was so pissed off; the only thing he could see that she might be looking at was the mirror in her locker.

The _mirror_.

Oh, right.

Of _course_.

Eli could relate to what he knew Clare was thinking. He knew what it was like to hate your own reflection, to hate yourself with such a fiery passion that it defied all reason.

Clare seemed so focused on her reflection, but her angry stare was oddly unfocused, like she was seeing something else, reliving some memory that somehow made her hate herself.

"Clare?" Eli asked softly.

She spun around, putting on a brave, fake smile. "H-hey, Eli," she mumbled.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

It was so _stupid _that it was almost funny, how he himself was so fucked up and he couldn't help himself, but one look at Clare so broken, so sad, and he felt the immediate need to protect her, to be there for her.

And he barely knew her at all.

"Nothing. I just… _nothing_," she repeated firmly.

Eli sighed and reached out to rest a hand on her shoulder.

The instant his fingers brushed her skin through her shirt, she jumped about ten feet in the air, raw and unmistakable terror flashing through her eyes for a brief second. Eli snatched his hand away; it was like she wasn't seeing him at all, like she was in another time, another place, like someone else was standing in front of her. It was almost as if Eli had _hurt _her, like he had knocked her around a few times, and now she was petrified of him.

"Clare?"

She seemed to snap back to reality, her wide, scared eyes staring into his. "Um, I… I'm fine, Eli." She turned around, still trembling a little, and Eli cautiously stepped closer to her.

"Do you want to skip?" he suggested.

"Again?" Clare wrinkled her nose, the strange incident seeming to be behind her, but Eli couldn't stop picturing the fear in her eyes, the way she shook, how his light touch seemed to scare the shit out of her.

What exactly had happened to her?

"Well… you could pass off as sick right now," Eli pointed out, trying desperately to lighten the mood. When Clare was happy, or was passed off as happy for her, Eli was… content. As close to actual happiness as he could truly get now.

Clare stared at the mirror again, a few long seconds hanging suspended in the air, and then she slammed her locker shut so hard, the loud _BANG _echoed through the mostly quiet hallway.

"Yeah," she said, turning to meet his eyes again and grinning almost devilishly. "Let's get out of here."

000

**A/N: So… do you think that Darcy should read the rest of Clare's diary and figure out what happened to her? Do you think Eli should find out that Clare cut herself? Do you think that Eclare should get back together? Do you think that the Degrassi writers are full of shit?**

**(All right, those last two have nothing to do with my story, but… whateva.)**

**And that last episode? It started out SO HAPPY, and then… Charlie let the "Oh I have a new girlfriend by the way" cat right out of the box and then Fiona let the real life "Mr. Tuxedo Pants" cat literally out of the box… or condo, in her case.**

**Crazy shit, I says! But it reminded me of the movie The Roommate when the crazy chick (Rebecca, right?) put the poor little kitty in the dryer. That was a really good movie….**

**Anyways, review please! I do not own Degrassi or The Roommate. If I did, I'd be rich by now, and I'd be able to replace this piece of shit Toshiba. -.-**


	10. Chapter 10

Clare pushed up her sleeve, eying the row of thin, light red scars on the inside of her arm. No one would ever guess what she was doing to herself. She had been going to therapy like a good little girl; she had even spoken a few times, smiled and told Dr. Alger that she was feeling better, careful not to overdo her delivery. Dr. Alger had smiled back and told Clare that that was good, really, really good.

And there was a little guilt, but to be honest, Clare didn't care.

She didn't care that she had lied to her therapist. She didn't care that she was lying to the whole world.

The whole class, every single screwed up one of them, had smiled, too, and Adam, who was sitting beside her, had patted her knee encouragingly, which had very nearly caused Clare to leap right out of her chair and sprint for the door. Nearly. And if it had been almost anyone else, Clare most likely would have. But Adam seemed so kind, so… _gentle _by nature, that Clare didn't think that he would hurt her.

It didn't hurt to keep her guard up, though. Clare pulled her sleeve back down, stretching it over the heel of her hand.

If anyone found out what she was doing… if anyone saw the scars or the new, fresh cut higher up on her arm, around three inches above her elbow, well… Clare didn't want to know what would happen.

She wasn't crying.

She refused to cry.

Clare fought to keep the tears on the inside. It seemed like all she did these days was cry, cry, _cry_. Stupid tears, stupid sobs, stupid shakes, stupid emptiness inside that momentarily filled with pure self-hatred as the drops of salty water rolled down her cheeks.

She _refused _to cry.

She was still shaking, still empty inside, but one step at a time.

"Are you okay?"

Clare froze, and then turned around slowly; Adam was standing awkwardly in front of her, like he wasn't sure if he should stay and comfort her or keep on walking.

"Y-yeah," she whispered. "I'm f-fine." Her voice was trembling a little too much for _anyone _to believe her, though.

Adam hesitated, and then sat down on the bench beside her, keeping around a foot of space between them. "What you told Dr. Alger today… about everything being fine… it was a lie, wasn't it?" His voice was soft and quiet, and for some reason, Clare felt like maybe she could talk to Adam. He wasn't like the others; even Eli wasn't so calm, so damned _peaceful_, like Adam was.

"Yeah," Clare admitted, still fighting the tears.

"You don't have to lie, Clare. It… it takes time. Everything takes time."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't… I don't know what happened to you, to make you want to kill yourself, and I don't expect you to tell me, but… it'll take time to heal. You don't have to pretend like everything's okay if it's not."

_Yes, I do._

"Thanks," she mumbled.

"For what?"

"For… not walking away."

Adam smiled slightly. He kept himself a little ways away from her; he seemed to understand that she didn't want to be touched.

But even he didn't understand.

She could pretend that he did.

But no one ever would.

000

Eli knew a thing or two about bullies.

He had experience with them, after all, back when he was that weird kid on the playground who never talked to anyone, and then in the seventh grade when he spent all of his free time writing in that tattered red spiral notebook with the skull drawn on the front in black Sharpie. There was Mike, there was Noah, there were probably fifty more whose names he couldn't be bothered to remember.

But now he was worse than _that weird kid_.

He was _that weird kid who killed his girlfriend._

He was _that weird kid who tried to kill himself._

He was _weak_.

He was _prey_.

He was a _target _to all of them.

They looked at him, and they saw someone who they could push around, someone who they could beat on without anything happening to them. He'd tried to kill himself, after all. He deserved it, after all. It was fun, it was _cool_.

Eli didn't even try to understand the minds of those people.

He leaned back against the stall door, pressing his hand against his nose to try to stop the bleeding. This was what his life had come to; hiding in the bathroom with blood flowing down his face, into his mouth, and yes, it _was _as disgusting as it sounded. He had _nose blood _dripping into his mouth.

_God damn it… _Eli pressed harder, grumbling to himself as he felt the blood begin to drip from his hand down his arm. Why wouldn't it just stop fucking bleeding already?

He wasn't weak. He wasn't prey. He wasn't a target.

He was going to fight back.

Damn it all. Damn them all to hell.

He was going to fight back.

000

Adam stepped out onto the sidewalk, taking a deep breath. Dr. Alger's group therapy was definitely helping; the whole school of Degrassi knew that he was transgender, which he wasn't exactly thrilled about, but Drew, Eli, Fiona, Clare, and even Bianca accepted him for who he was, not _what _he was. Over the past few weeks, he'd even begun to accept himself.

It wasn't easy. His mother still didn't understand; before his suicide attempt, she'd insisted on calling him Gracie, and she'd refused to let him leave the house wearing "guy clothes." Now, at least she was making an effort, always correcting herself when she let the old name slip out or referred to Adam as "her" or "she." She was trying, and that was all Adam could ask for.

The day everyone had discovered his secret at Degrassi had easily been the worst day of his life. He'd transferred to the school in the middle of his freshman year, determined to no longer live life as a lie, and then… well, the students at Degrassi weren't stupid. Not all of them, anyways. They'd been able to put it together, piece by piece, until some chick had ripped his shirt open in front of the lockers and his secret had come out.

There was no getting that genie back _into _the bottle, and Adam had wanted to just go back home and hide. He'd wanted to just lock the door to his room and cry like a little _girl_.

And he'd hated himself.

Then, at the beginning of the summer, he'd had the _brilliant _idea to leap out into traffic, and then his blood had been smeared all over the windshield and there were sirens and he wasn't dead. He was in pain, but he wasn't dead.

Adam could have said that it was an accident. It had been raining, after all, and foggy; he could have said that he was listening to his iPod and hadn't seen or heard the car as he was crossing the street. But then his mother had come to the hospital and thrown her arms around him and whispered, "Oh, God, Gracie, I was so _worried _about you, baby girl."

And _that _was the last straw.

He'd exploded. He'd yelled at his mother that he had tried to kill himself, because of _her_. Because she couldn't accept that he wasn't a _girl _anymore, that she had a son, not a daughter. And her mother's face had gone white, her mouth hanging open in surprise.

But now she was trying.

"Um, hey- Adam, right?"

Adam turned to see a tall guy with brown hair and slightly squinted eyes staring at him, a white envelope in one hand. "Yeah?" His voice came out higher than he'd meant to, more like _Gracie's _voice, but he was a little… paranoid. For some reason, Adam got some _very bad guy _vibe off of him. He controlled his voice and added, "Who are you?"

"Mark Fitzgerald. Call me Fitz." This Fitz guy _looked _friendly enough, but there was something in his voice that set Adam a little on edge. "You know Clare, right? Clare Edwards? Isn't she in your therapy group or something?"

Adam wondered how the hell this guy knew that, but he decided that it couldn't hurt to tell him the truth. "Yeah, she is."

"Cool. Listen, could you give this to her?" Fitz thrust the wrinkled white envelope at Adam, and Adam stared at it, raising his eyebrows slightly. "I… I need to talk to you, but you know how girls are."

_I know that Clare's not like other girls._

_I know that you must have done something really fucked up to her if she doesn't want to talk to you._

Adam forced an amused laugh and grabbed the envelope, folding it and stuffing it into his pocket. "Sure, whatever."

He didn't want to give the letter to Clare. Something told him that she would be better off if she cut this _Mark Fitzgerald _out of her life.

It was most likely wrong. It was definitely wrong. He had no business with Clare Edwards.

As soon as Fitz was out of sight, Adam pulled the envelope out of his pocket and ripped it open, feeling _guilty_ for reading words that were meant for Clare's eyes only. But he couldn't forget the way that she was sitting there, her shoulders shaking, looking like she was about to fall apart. He didn't _like_ her, not like that- hell, he barely _knew _her- but he wanted to make sure that Fitz's words weren't going to hurt her more.

Inside the envelope was a folded, slightly crumpled piece of notebook paper, with three words scrawled in messy handwriting on a single line.

_I miss you._

What the hell was that supposed to mean?

Three words couldn't hurt. Three words wouldn't make any difference.

Adam stuffed the notebook paper and torn envelope back into his pocket. It was just three words.

There was no reason why he shouldn't give it to Clare.

Was there?

000

**A/N: I do not cry easily.**

**I didn't cry when I watched The Notebook, Titanic, or I Am Legend (it's SAD when he kills his dog!). I didn't cry when I read ****Where the Red Fern Grows ****or ****Marley and Me ****or really any other sad book I've ever picked up. I didn't cry when I was watching NCIS (spoilers, I guess, for all of you readers who watch NCIS) and Kate was killed.**

**But when Adam was shot last night, I bawled my eyes out.**

**At least he's still alive, and at least Degrassi is going to be back in a few months. I now ship Adam/Bianca, and I literally cheered when Bianca apologized to Adam. And Eli and Clare had a MOMENT at the hospital!**

**Eclare WILL happen again. I don't care how many people tell me they won't.**

**And from the new promo… it seems like Jake and Alli are gonna get together.**

**I SHIP THAT.**

**I also ship Vince/jail cell, and I hope they never break up.**

**And for those of you who are interested, I posted a one-shot a couple days ago called Psychosomatic… check it out if you want, I guess.**

**Anyways, review please! I do not own Degrassi, The Notebook, Titanic, I Am Legend, ****Where the Red Fern Grows****, ****Marley and Me****, or NCIS. (Wow, that's a long disclaimer.)**


	11. Chapter 11

**"Just because I'm smiling doesn't mean I'm happy...because it takes one smile to cover up a million tears." - Anonymous**

Clare reached up to brush her fingers along the edge of the bruise around Eli's eye, frowning in concern. Her fingertips were soft and cool, and her lips were parted slightly.

He wanted to kiss her.

The thought was sudden and shocking. Eli wanted to kiss Clare Edwards.

But he _couldn't _think like that about _anyone_, especially not Clare. So he shoved the thought out of his mind.

"What happened?" she asked, her soft blue eyes staring into his dark green ones. She looked almost _too _fragile, _too _innocent, as always.

How could a _suicide _look like that? How could someone so _broken_, so _fucked up_, look innocent at the same time?

_Take a guess, Blue Eyes._

"Nothing," he replied. He didn't want Clare to worry about him. This was his own problem, and he didn't want to get her involved. He could take care of himself, more or less, and this… _issue _of his didn't concern her.

"What happened?" she repeated, stubbornly this time.

Eli sighed. "I tripped. Smacked my head on the table."

"I don't believe you."

Of course she didn't.

"It's none of your business."

"Eli, we're… English partners. We're _friends _now. If someone hurt you-"

"Like I said, it was an accident."

"Like _I _said, _I don't believe you_."

Damn, she could be _pigheaded _when she wanted to be. But that was his story, the same story he'd told his parents, and he was sticking to it. If Clare knew what really happened, she'd be sucked into this mess he'd made, and he… well, he cared about her too much to let that happen.

Somewhere along the line, he started caring about Clare Edwards. Caring way, way too much.

Fuck his life.

"Don't worry about me, Blue Eyes."

To be perfectly honest, he wanted her to worry about him. He wanted her to care about him. He wanted to think that someone, somehow, actually gave a damn about him, for whatever reason. Even his parents… they didn't have a choice. He was their _son_. But Clare… she had no obligation, no contract signed in blood that said that she had to even give him a second glance, and she did anyways. Ever since Julia died, though he would never admit it, he had wanted someone, _anyone_, to actually care enough to do _something_ about him, something _for _him.

He couldn't think like that, either. He _couldn't_.

She shrugged, pulling her hand away. "Can't help it."

_What's that supposed to mean?_

Eli was afraid to guess, afraid to ask, afraid of whatever answer she would give.

He, Elijah Goldsworthy, was scared half to death of the tiny, delicate Clare Edwards. Because he knew that she had the power to hurt him again. He'd let himself be weak enough to give her the power over him to hurt him. If she said a certain thing, if she acted in a certain way, if she left him like everyone else had… he'd break again.

What was she doing to him?

Eli understood how people hundreds of years before had believed in witches. If he hadn't known better, he would've sworn that Clare had cast some kind of spell over him.

Because he'd promised himself that he would never care about anyone enough to let them hurt him. Never again.

And now he had.

Eli wasn't sure how it had happened. It was just… all of the sudden, he realized that he really did care about her. He'd done the impossible. He'd broken his promise, to Julia and to himself.

"And before you ask me if I want to skip… no, I don't. I actually want to try to make it through the whole day, okay?"

She was catching on to him.

Eli simply smirked and replied, "Okay."

Clare hesitated, even though if she wanted to get to class on time, she would have to practically sprint through the hallways now. "You… you'll stay here, right? I mean, you'll be here, at Degrassi, if I need you?"

_She needs me._

"Of course," he promised.

But he knew that he couldn't. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't always be there when she needed him. He couldn't be her knight in shining armor, and it was _killing _him.

He just kept making promises that he knew he was going to break.

And he hated himself because of it.

000

Clare knew that she had to stop doing this to herself.

She knew that someday, someone might find out. She knew that she couldn't keep secrets forever. She _knew _that. She wasn't stupid.

To be honest, she _wanted _someone to see. She wanted someone to care enough, to see the scars and _help _her. Deep, deep down, she wanted to get better, and this was her cry for help. She knew that it was futile; she knew that no one would ever care.

But she couldn't stop.

It wasn't just the cutting anymore.

Not just the _slash_.

Not just the _blood._

Not just the _pain_.

It was more than that.

Clare held the razor delicately between her thumb and forefinger, taking a deep breath and then pressing the edge against the inside of her arm. She slowly pulled it across her skin, closing her eyes.

"_Clare, I'm sorry!"_

"_You said that before! Why should I believe you this time?"_

_Mark caught her wrists, holding them securely in his hands, and she winced in pain. They were already bruised from the night before, when he'd shown up at her door, unannounced and drunk, just like he always was these days._

"_Clare, I… just listen to me. Please. I'm really, really sorry. It's just… you were pissing me off, and I… well, I just couldn't help myself. I was just so mad at you, and… I'm really sorry."_

"_You were drunk! You told me that you'd stop drinking! For me, remember, Mark? You said that you'd stop drinking for me."_

_Mark sighed. "I know, and I'm sorry. Please forgive me, Clare. Please."_

"_I… I don't know if I can."_

"_But you're a Christian, aren't you? You're supposed to forgive, right?"_

_Clare could feel tears prickling behind her eyes. She had been brought up believing that everyone deserved a second chance. Of course, she'd already given Mark a second chance, but… was she a horrible person if she didn't forgive him? Was she a cold-hearted bitch if she didn't believe him? He looked so sincere, so apologetic, and… how could she not take him back? How could she not accept his apology?_

"_It'll never happen again, right?" Clare nearly whimpered. "You promise that you'll never hit me again?"'_

_Mark wrapped his arms gently around her. "I promise."_

She should have known better.

Clare twisted the knob on the sink, icy cold water running from the faucet. She stuck her arm underneath and waited until the water had washed the cut clean before she rinsed off the blade.

She didn't want to stop.

She knew that it was wrong, but she didn't want to stop.

Not because it felt good. It didn't.

But because she just _couldn't_.

And nobody cared enough to help her.

000

Darcy locked Clare's door behind her, telling herself, _I have to do this. I have to do this for her._

She slid Clare's diary off of the bookshelf and flipped towards the end, praying to God for forgiveness of what she was about to do.

…_I don't know what to do anymore,_ Clare had written. _I don't know how to feel. Everything I do makes him mad. Maybe, if I was a better girlfriend, if I was a better person, he wouldn't do this to me. Maybe it really is my fault._

Darcy's eyes widened in shock. What was Clare talking about? What was happening to her?

She flipped back and forth a few pages, scanning her sister's neat handwriting anxiously. Little passages, phrases of words clumped together in slightly smeared pen ink, jumped out at her.

…_he hit me again today… it's getting harder to hide the bruises… he always apologizes… he brought me flowers… he was drunk again… he promised that he'll never do it again… he's right, it's all my fault… everything's all my fault… I can barely move today… some secrets are best kept secrets… if anyone knew, they'd hate me forever… I deserve this…_

Darcy didn't realize that she was crying until the drop of water fell onto the page, splattering the ink.

How could something like this have happened to her baby sister for _so long_ and no one ever knew? How could Clare have kept this hidden from everyone? If Darcy had been there… oh, God, if she had just _been _there, if she had just visited home or, better yet, never have gone to Kenya, maybe she couldn't stopped this. Maybe she could've helped Clare.

Throughout the entire diary, Clare never mentioned _his _name.

But it wasn't so hard to guess.

Darcy snapped Clare's diary closed, shoving it back into its place on the bookshelf. She didn't think that she could force herself to read another word of that.

The tears were coming in earnest now, and Darcy fumbled with the lock, bursting out of her sister's room and running straight down the stairs and out the door.

She had to get out of that house, just for a little while. Just to clear her head before she tried to figure out what the fuck she was going to _do _about it.

She was crying and running and every part of her was screaming in horror.

This was all too close, all too real.

This couldn't be happening.

000

"Clare! Hey, Clare, wait up!"

Clare turned to see Adam jogging towards her, holding a piece of folded notebook paper in his hand. He gave her and Eli a slightly uneasy smile before handing her the paper.

"Some guy gave it to me yesterday. He told me to give it to you next time I saw you… said his name was Fitz or something."

Fitz.

Clare was the only one who was allowed to call him _Mark_. She'd stupidly thought that that meant that he was opening up to her, that she was good for him.

He cared about her. He said that he did, and she had no choice but to believe him, because he was the only person who ever would.

Clare didn't even notice Adam walking away. She simply stared at the folded paper, trying to breathe, but she couldn't. Her lungs rejected even the possibility of oxygen.

"Clare?" Eli murmured, but he didn't touch her.

Clare didn't answer. She opened the creased paper slowly, her fingers clenching it so hard, the paper was almost tearing in half.

Three simple words.

_I miss you._

Three simple words brought her whole world, every shred of sanity she had left, crashing and burning all the way down.

000

**A/N: (I would PM this person, but like I said before, my computer freezes every time I try.) Last chapter, someone asked me if I've ever cut myself. Yes, I have. I was going through a tough period of my life a while ago for reasons that I'd rather keep private, and I used to cut. I don't anymore, but I used to, and I remember what it felt like.**

**Cutting is like alcohol. I know it's bad for me and I know that I shouldn't do it, but I still want to, just like an alcoholic would still want a drink, even though it's been months since I've cut.**

**Depression is not a joke. It's a serious condition that many people, including me, have struggled with their entire lives and will continue to battle for as long as they live.**

**I just want to say that if any of my readers self-harm, I hope that things get better for you. I'm not going to pretend like I understand what's going on in your life, but certain things in my life did get better for me and I hope that they do for you as well. Stay strong.**

**I do not own Degrassi.**


	12. Chapter 12

Clare was leaning heavily against him as he guided her into his house, the crumpled notebook paper still clenched in her hand. Eli didn't dare try to take it from her; there was some kind strange look in her eyes, some emotion that he couldn't name.

"Clare?" he murmured softly, trying not to startle her. She didn't look at him; she didn't even seem to register his words. "Clare?" he repeated, and then pushed her down gently down onto his couch, sitting down beside her and twining his fingers with hers. She didn't flinch at his touch, but she didn't respond, either.

"I'm sorry," she whispered brokenly. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry for what?"

"I'm sorry!" she shrieked, wrenching her hand away from his and cringing away from him, shielding her face with her arms almost as if she expected him to _hit _her or something and sobbing. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it, I'm sorry, _I'm sorry_…"

Eli realized that she wasn't talking to him, wasn't seeing him at all. She was in some other place again, trapped in her own personal hell again, stuck in some horrific memory or flashback that she couldn't get out of.

"Clare, it's… it's okay." He had never felt so damned _helpless _before; even that time when she'd freaked out at the lockers was nothing compared to this. _This_, he was pretty sure, classified as a mental breakdown. "Here, can I… can I see this?" He pulled gently on the crumpled paper, still clenched in her hand. She slowly relaxed her fingers, and he unfolded it, smoothing it out to see exactly what had sent her into this panicked state.

It was just three words, scrawled in messy handwriting. _I miss you_.

Who had given Adam that letter? Fitz, he'd said. Fitz who? Clare certainly seemed to recognize the name; had this _Fitz _done something to her? Had he hurt her? Eli could feel his hands clenching into fists at just the _thought _of someone hurting Clare.

"Clare, who is Fitz?" he asked softly.

Bad move.

His name nearly sent Clare into hysterics, her entire body shaking. She was practically screaming as she sobbed, and Eli had no idea what he was supposed to do. The only experience he'd had with this sort of thing was when Julia had been upset after another fight with her stepmother, and Julia had never been… _like this_.

"It's okay, Clare. Everything's okay. I… I'm not going to hurt you," he promised, and he felt so _rotten_.

Because here she was, and she needed him, and he couldn't help her because he had no idea how to.

Her purse was beside her on the couch, and Eli slowly reached over her to grab it. She was still crying, and he didn't dare touch her, for fear of scaring her even more. He fished around inside of her purse, feeling _very _awkward, even considering the situation- Julia _never _would have let him even _think _of touching her purse- until he found Clare's cell phone.

Eli scrolled through the contacts quickly, searching for a familiar name. _Alli, KC, Imogen, Adam… _He didn't really think that Adam could help in a situation like this; he'd be just as lost as Eli was. _Anya, Jenna, Jake, Marisol, Darcy…_

Darcy. He recognized that name. Wasn't Clare's sister named Darcy? Eli remembered Clare mentioning her once while they were working on some stupid-ass essay that he couldn't write to save his life, or maybe it was at the Dot one time… he couldn't remember, and it didn't really matter.

Maybe _Darcy _would know what to do.

Eli hit _CALL_, holding the phone to his ear and praying to the God he didn't believe in that Clare's sister would pick up the phone. The only other option that he could think of would be to call 911 and have them send an ambulance; panic attacks could be life-threatening, right?

"It's okay, Clare," he whispered softly to her as the phone rang. "It's okay, I promise."

He _had _to stop making promises like that.

"Hello?"

"Darcy?"

"Who's this?"

Eli couldn't hold back a relieved smile, which quickly faded. "I'm Eli. I'm a… a friend of Clare's. She's… not doing so well right now."

000

Darcy burst into this _Eli's _house without knocking, searching frantically for her sister. She could hear Clare crying before she even stepped into the living room, where she saw her curled into a ball on the couch, shaking and sobbing, with a dark-haired guy of about sixteen or seventeen sitting about two feet away, staring at her helplessly.

The guy- she guessed that he was Eli- turned to meet her eyes. "I didn't do anything to her, I swear," he explained quickly. "She got this letter from some guy, and she just… fell apart."

He moved out of the way, standing up and stepping to the side as Darcy sat down beside Clare, resting one hand on her shoulder. Clare's eyes flew open, tear-filled blue orbs staring straight at Darcy. For a moment, she didn't seem to recognize her own sister, and then she threw her arms around Darcy and hugged her so tightly, Darcy felt almost all the air being forced out of her lungs.

She would bet _anything _that this had to do with that _asshole _of an ex-boyfriend.

Mark Fitzgerald.

Darcy had put all the pieces together. From reading- or partially reading- a few entries in Clare's diary, something she wasn't exactly proud of, she'd realized that _Mark _had fucking _hit _her.

He had _beaten _her sister and then told her that she fucking _deserved it_.

And the worst part was that, in Helen's letters, she'd practically worshipped Mark, calling him the perfect boyfriend and telling Darcy how cute he was with Clare. She'd written, _I was a little worried at first, because from what I hear, he has a reputation, but now that I know him, it couldn't be true. He's the sweetest, most honest young man I've ever met._

Well, apparently it _was _true. The nice, honest Mark Fitzgerald who had charmed his way onto Helen's good side was just a mask he hid behind.

And Darcy was pissed off that there wasn't even a _word _for how much she wanted to _murder _that son of a bitch, Ten Commandments be _damned._

Because she was Darcy Edwards, and _no one _fucked with her little sister.

Not anymore.

"You okay, Clare Bear?" she asked softly. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Clare mumbled unconvincingly, her arms still wrapped tightly around her sister and her face still pressed into Darcy's shoulder.

Darcy sighed. There was going to be a time and a place to talk about this, to talk about what had happened, and to throw that _bastard _behind bars.

He _would_ be locked up, wouldn't he? He'd assaulted Clare more than once. That was a criminal offense, right? She'd never paid much attention to the law before; basically, if she didn't kill, steal, or do any really bad stuff like that, she'd be fine.

"Come on," she whispered, standing up and helping her sister to her feet. "Let's get you home."

000

"_So she just yells at you? That's all?"_

_Julia shrugged. "Yells. Screams. Shouts. Whatever you want to call it."_

"_That's _all _she does?" The anger, boiling deep inside of him, was creeping into his voice. His father had taught him to never hit a woman, but fuck, if that goddamned stepmother of hers had laid a hand on Julia, there'd be hell to pay. "She doesn't… she doesn't hit you or anything?"_

_Julia turned, giving him a strange look. "Um, no. Why?"_

"_Just… just making sure."_

_She sighed, leaning against him. "She's never hit me, but sometimes… sometimes I think she will. Like, she'll be really pissed off and she'll have this, I don't know, this _look _in her eyes and I think that she's going to hit me. But if she ever does, I'm gonna hit her back harder."_

_There was no doubt in Eli's mind that his girlfriend would, in fact, beat the shit out of her stepmother if the opportunity came._

"_Well… you know, if you ever wanted to stay here, I could always sleep on the couch," Eli offered. It was way, _way _too early in their relationship to even _think _about… sharing a bed._

_Julia smiled. "You're so sweet, Eli."_

_Yeah, whatever._

Eli was nearly driving himself crazy, wondering who the hell this _Fitz _was and what he'd done to Clare to make her so… _scared _of him.

Clare Edwards was scarred just as much as he was. It didn't matter that her scars were on the inside, unlike his, because they were just as visible. When he looked into her eyes, he could see how broken he was, how shattered her heart, her trust, her _soul _was.

Eli wanted to help her. He really, really wanted to.

But he was so broken himself… he didn't know how he could.

Of course, he'd put Clare above himself. Eli was a lot of things, but he wasn't selfish; he never had been. He had cared about Julia's well-being so much more than he had about his own, that on several occasions, Julia had told him, "Just shut up and worry about yourself for once in your life, okay?"

But he was worried- he was stressing over to the point of losing sleep- that if he tried to help her, he'd just hurt her more.

He was a monster, and he destroyed everything he touched.

Eli still had Clare's phone, lying on his desk next to his computer. He'd forgotten about it, watching Darcy comfort Clare, and then the two of them had left before he remembered to give it back.

What had happened to her?

He'd told her about Julia. Well, not _everything _about Julia. He'd told her that Julia was dead. In a brief moment of weakness, he'd showed Clare his scars, the letters carved deeply into his left forearm.

Maybe, if he opened up to her, if he showed her that he trusted her… maybe she'd return the favor.

The problem was, he didn't think that he could talk about what had happened.

Ever.

It was his fault. It was his burden, his cross to bear. If he told anyone about his guilt, it would be like saying that it wasn't his fault. Julia was his, all his, and he'd killed her.

And now he would have to suffer the consequences.

Well, Julia had her wish. Eli was being selfish, for once in his life.

He knew that he could help Clare. He _knew _that.

But he was so afraid.

Afraid of hurting her. Afraid of being hurt. Afraid of turning himself into the monster he had already become.

Afraid of breaking again. Afraid of dying inside again.

He could help her.

But he couldn't help himself.

000

"Please," Clare whispered. "Please don't make me talk about it."

Darcy didn't know what to do. As usual.

She had to know the truth, because that was the only way she could help her sister. But if she forced Clare to talk about what had happened to her, she might… damage her. Darcy remembered how hard it was, when she told Manny that she remembered a man who wasn't Peter, that she had lost her virginity to someone who she didn't even know, that she was _raped_. That some sick _stranger _had infected her with his disease, of mind and of body.

"Clare, it's okay. You don't have to talk about it until you're ready. Just… just let me do the talking, okay?"

Clare nodded slowly, refusing to meet Darcy's eyes, like she was _ashamed._

"You… you remember when I was… raped, at that party at the ski lodge?" Even after more than three years, it was difficult to talk about.

Clare flinched at the word _raped_, and Darcy realized that maybe she didn't know the whole story.

But she wasn't going to make Clare talk about it. She had to be there for her.

"I felt so… so _dirty_. So _worthless_. I felt like I was damaged somehow, like it was my fault."

"But it wasn't," Clare mumbled. "It wasn't your fault, Darcy."

"I know that now. But at the time… I thought that it was. I thought that I had done something wrong, that I deserved it in some twisted way. And so I didn't tell anyone. Everyone thought that I'd had sex with Peter, and I wanted to believe it… I wanted to believe that I'd lost my virginity to someone I loved and cared about, even if it was some stupid, drunken mistake that I regretted now. But it wasn't Peter. And I couldn't forgive myself."

"But it _wasn't_ your fault."

"I know, Clare. I wasn't the one who went around drugging girls' drinks. I wasn't the… I wasn't the _rapist_. It wasn't my fault. And Clare, I know what happened to you. And that wasn't your fault, either. You didn't do anything wrong."

Clare's face was pale, drained off all blood, and her eyes were wide with shock. "You… you know?"

Darcy nodded. "I know that Mark used to hit you. I know that-"

"_No!_"

Darcy flinched a little, and then regained her composure, trying not to let the raw panic in Clare's voice distract her. "Clare-"

"No, he… he… that never happened!"

"Clare, it's okay, you can-"

"Get out!"

"Clare-"

"_Get out!_"

000

**A/N: Sisterly bonding. Or… sort of. It started out kind of like that, anyways.**

**I originally wasn't going to post this until Monday, but you guys are just so amazing. I was really touched by some of the things you said in your reviews. Again, for everyone out there who's going through a tough time, I know it's hard, but it'll all work out in the end.**

**I do not own Degrassi.**


	13. Chapter 13

Eli stepped into the doorway in front of Clare, blocking her exit. Throughout the entire school day and then the therapy session afterwards, she'd avoided him. He'd tried to talk to her several times, but she'd just lowered her head and walked away quickly, as if she couldn't stand to face him.

What did he do wrong this time?

Was it something he said? Was it because of her… breakdown the day before?

"What?" she asked quietly, still refusing to look him in the eyes.

"You… you left your phone at my house," Eli explained awkwardly. He pulled it out of his pocket and offered it to her, hoping that she would accept it as a sort of peace treaty, that maybe she'd talk to him. Maybe she'd let him be her rock, her support system.

Maybe that was too much to ask.

Clare stared at her cell phone for a few seconds, like she wasn't sure of exactly what it was, before grabbing it away from him and stuffing it back into her purse. "Is that all?" She sounded… _hostile_, almost.

"Are you okay?" Eli asked, hoping that she would actually _talk _to him.

She looked completely expressionless. Not empty or hollow, just expressionless.

She sighed heavily, and then gave him a fake smile that reached nowhere near her eyes. "I've never been better," she replied, and then pushed past him and walked straight out the door.

She didn't look back.

000

They were at the Dot together, as usual, but this time it seemed more like a force of habit than a friendly meeting.

Since school had started, they usually talked to each other on these little get-togethers, but Clare made it obvious that she didn't want to speak about anything. Eli looked like he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say, and Clare wasn't sure if she wanted him to leave or not.

Darcy knew.

Darcy knew what had happened. She _knew_. Oh, God, she _knew _what a… what a _disgusting _person Clare was. And Clare couldn't let Eli know, too. When she was around Eli… the whole world seemed so much better. It was as if, for a few seconds, she could forget what had happened. She could actually just be herself.

No. No, she couldn't be herself. She could never be herself.

Mark had told her that he was the only person who would ever care about her, the only person who would ever love her. If people knew who she _really _was, he said, they'd hate her. They'd want nothing to do with her. He was the only person who could ever care about her.

The only reason that Eli cared, she realized, was because he didn't know.

He didn't know who she really was.

"Clare… are you _sure _that you're okay?"

_Shut up. Just… shut up._

She was scared. God, she was scared half to death.

Because she actually cared about him, much more than she should. She _wanted _to tell him. She wanted him to make everything okay; she wanted him to tell her that she was wrong, that she wasn't a failure, wasn't a horrible person. She wanted him to tell her that everything would be okay.

But if he knew, he'd _hate _her.

Everyone would hate her.

"Yeah, I'm fine."

"But yesterday…"

"I _don't _want to talk about it."

He sighed. "Clare, I… I know what it feels like. To not want to tell anyone, to not want anyone to know. I get it."

_No, you don't. You don't know anything._

Clare stood up, her heart hammering in her chest. She had to leave. She had to get out of there.

"Clare, wait." Eli reached out to grab her arm, she jerked away from him, and her sleeve slid back towards her elbow.

This day just kept getting better and better.

Eli's eyes widened slightly, and Clare pulled her sleeve back down, covering the scars.

"Clare, are you…"

"No," she snapped, but her voice was trembling, and she knew that Eli didn't believe her.

"Are you hurting yourself?" Eli demanded.

"Don't you _dare _lecture me about _this_!" Clare's voice was rising, and she struggled to control it. "Don't you _dare _tell me that this is _wrong of me _when you _carved your girlfriend's name into your arm!_"

Eli was silent, staring at her in shock.

"Clare, you…" He trailed off, seeming at a loss for words.

Clare glanced away, unable to bear the pain she could see in his eyes. She hadn't wanted to hurt him, but she had, and she felt horrible because of it, but there was no taking her words back. Eli knew that she was hurting herself, and he didn't care. No one cared.

No, that wasn't right. People tried to care, but every time they got too close, Clare would push them away. She couldn't stand anyone getting too close to her, anyone even hinting that maybe they could push past her walls. She couldn't.

He stood up, too, careful not to touch her again. "Come on," he murmured. "Come with me."

"What?" she asked, following him as he walked away. "Where are we going?"

He shrugged, not turning around. "You'll see."

000

It was an abandoned church.

Clare couldn't help but wonder why, of all places, Eli would bring her _here_, to an abandoned place of worship. A ruin of broken promises. Did he know about her… crisis of faith? Did he know about her purity ring, lost somewhere at the bottom of the ocean?

No. No , he couldn't know. No one did, except for Darcy.

Darcy _knew _what had happened.

Clare half expected her sister to pin a letter on her chest, just like poor Hester. Hester would be wearing that _A_, and Clare would have an _S_, maybe. An _S _for stupid, for shame. Or maybe a _G_, for gullible, for guilty. A letter to announce to the world what Clare was.

"Why are we here?" Clare asked, her voice sounding small and scared.

"Clare, I know that… I know that it's hard for you to trust people. But please… _please _trust me. I won't hurt you, I promise."

"He… he promised, too. He promised that he'd never hurt me again, and…" Clare clamped her lips shut, biting back the words. She wanted to tell Eli, but she couldn't. She couldn't tell anyone. Eli had noticed her scars, noticed what she had done to herself, and maybe he cared, but Clare still couldn't. She was trapped, trapped within herself, trapped in her own mind.

"Clare. Clare, look at me." Eli stepped closer, resting his hand on her upper arm, and this time, she didn't move away. She lifted her eyes to meet his, trying to choke back the tears.

"Who promised? Who hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No one."

"Clare, don't lie to me."

"No one," she insisted, her voice cracking. "Eli, please don't…"

"I know it's hard, Clare. I know…" He took a deep breath. "I don't understand what it's like to be you, but you don't understand what it's like to be me, either. And I… I told you, didn't I? I told you what happened to… to Julia."

"No, you didn't. You told me that she died, but… you didn't tell me everything, did you?"

Eli looked almost… afraid. Afraid of her, like she was afraid of him.

"Julia… I loved her," he began shakily. "I mean, I really, really loved her. But… we fought all the time. The littlest things would set us off, and we'd just start screaming at each other. And… and one night, we were fighting over something really stupid, and I… I told her that I never wanted to see her again. She took off on her bike in the middle of the night… got hit by a car."

"Oh, my God, Eli," Clare whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"It was my fault…"

"No. No, it wasn't," she protested. To be honest, she wasn't sure if it was or not. She didn't know exactly what Eli had said to Julia, but she would do anything to try to take away the pain in his eyes.

"Clare…"

"People fight, Eli. All couples fight." _I would know that better than anyone_. She wrapped her arms around him, resting her head on his shoulder, and for once, she didn't feel the familiar panic from being so close to someone else, so physically near another body. Eli's arms tightened around her, and he drew in a shaky breath. She could feel one of his tears dropping onto her shoulder, the drop of water soaking through the thin fabric of her shirt.

For a while, they just stood there, in each other's arms, and it felt… it felt good. It felt _right_.

After a few moments of silence, Eli whispered, "Clare, what happened to you?"

She could feel herself starting to cry. What if he hated her? What if he never wanted to see her again after she told him? Mark had said that he was the only person who could ever care about her. What if this was all some sick, twisted game? What if Eli was just playing with her, screwing with her thoughts, her feelings?

The words bubbled up in her throat, bursting past her lips.

"My… my boyfriend raped me."

000

**A/N: So… review?**

**Oh, and by the way, I have a new story called Live and Let Die. It's based off of the new promo for the Halloween special or whatever it's supposed to be. Check it out if you want.**

**Sorry for the short chapter and the… sort-of cliffhanger.**

**I do not own Degrassi or ****The Scarlet Letter****.**


	14. Chapter 14

_My boyfriend raped me._

Eli couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't think.

He'd known that something horrible had happened to Clare. He knew that someone had hurt her; he knew that there was a terribly reason why she was so distant, so broken.

He should have at least suspected that.

But he couldn't.

He just _couldn't_.

She was crying, her face pressed against his shoulder, her tears soaking into his shirt, and he felt like a statue, like he was made completely of stone and concrete.

_My boyfriend raped me._

Her words were rebounding around in his head, shattering little pieces of him.

"W-what?" he managed to choke out. _Come again?_

"My boyfriend," she repeated, sobbing. Her voice was muffled, and he tightened his arms around her protectively, careful not to hurt her. "M-mark Fitzgerald. He would get drunk, and then h-he'd hit me, and…" She didn't seem to be able to speak the words again, and to be honest, Eli didn't think that he could hear them again without falling into pieces.

But he had to be strong. He had to keep himself together, for _her_.

"How long?" he demanded.

She didn't answer at first, and then she whispered, "We were only dating f-for a few m-months…"

Eli rubbed her back slowly, trying to comprehend her words. Mark Fitzgerald. The Fitz who had written her that letter. That was the reason why, before now, she'd always done her best to avoid any kind of physical contact. It explained everything.

And he was hoping, _praying _to God or Goddess or whatever the hell might be up there, that she was wrong. That he'd heard her wrong. That that had never happened to her, that she'd never had to go through that. There had to be something else, some other explanation, because that _couldn't _happen. Not to Clare.

"D-did you tell anyone?" he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. He had to be strong for her.

"Darcy… Darcy knows that he h-hit me, but not that he… she doesn't know everything." Clare pulled away a little, leaning back to rest her chin on his shoulder. Her voice was soft, fragile, whispering in his ear in a shattered tone. "But I… I told my dad, and…" She was starting to fall apart again, and he could feel her shaking against him.

"It's okay, Clare. It's okay." He wished that it was. He wished that he could take away everything bad that had ever happened to her, that he could go back in time and make everything okay for her, even if it meant that they'd never met. He wished that he could give her the perfect life she deserved.

"I was staying there for a while in the s-summer, and… and I told him what happened. H-he was drunk, just like M-mark always was, and… _he didn't care._" She was crying again, her voice so choked he could barely understand her. "I… I told him that Mark… that he _raped _me and _he didn't care._ And the next morning, he d-didn't even remember that I… that his _daughter _had been…"

"Oh my God," Eli whispered. "Oh my _God_, Clare…"

"Mark said that… that it was my fault. That he's the only p-person who could ever care about me, that he's the only person who could ever love me… _It's my fault_."

"Clare." Eli pulled away, staring directly into her eyes. She glanced away, reaching up to wipe away the tears with shaking fingers. "Clare, _look at me._ It's not your fault. It's… oh, God, Clare, _none _of this is your fault. And if… if that _bastard _had really loved you, he wouldn't have done that to you. He lied to you. And I… _I _care about you, Clare. I care about you so much. _And none of this is your fault._" She looked almost hopeful, like she wanted to believe him, but she couldn't. Like something inside of her wouldn't let her trust his words.

If it was possible for his heart to break any more, it would crumble into dust.

Maybe he more than cared about her.

Maybe he loved her.

But no, that was _impossible_. Not… not after Julia. He didn't deserve to love anyone. He _couldn't _love anyone, not even someone like Clare.

"I care about you," he repeated. "And I'm so, so sorry that you had to go through that. I… I'd take it away, if I could. You're an amazing, incredible, kind, smart, funny, beautiful girl and you didn't deserve _any _of what happened to you." He brushed away her tears with his fingertips and whispered, "Clare, you have to believe me. You have to trust me."

She stared at him, like she hadn't heard his words. And then she took a deep breath and whispered, "I trust you."

000

Eli's arms were still wrapped around her; he'd barely let go of her for a second since the abandoned church, like he was afraid that she would just completely fall apart the instant he stepped away. Clare would have _made _him let her go, but she felt the same way, like he was the only thing holding her together.

_Amazing, incredible, kind, smart, funny, beautiful._

_Beautiful._

Eli thought that she was beautiful.

Not _useless_. Not a _dumb shit._ Not a _stupid little bitch _or a _fucked-up whore._

He thought that she was _beautiful._

And not just beautiful. He thought that she was… _amazing, incredible, kind, smart, funny, beautiful._

He cared about her.

Mark had told her, over and over, that she was damaged, that she was _his _property and no one else's. He'd made her believe that she was nothing, that he was the only person who could ever, in a million years, care about her. She was _his_, and she would never be anything more or anything better than that.

And with just a few simple words, Eli had changed her mind. He'd changed her outlook on everything, her view of herself. He thought that she was beautiful.

She trusted him.

She knew that she shouldn't. She knew that she shouldn't trust anyone.

But she trusted Eli.

"You need to tell someone," he murmured.

"I can't."

"You told me."

_But it's not the same. I don't trust anyone else the way I trust you. Not even Darcy. She's my sister, and she left me. She left me for three years… and she doesn't care anyways. No one would ever care. No one but Eli. He's the only one._

"I can't," she repeated.

"You have to. You have to tell _someone_ else."

Clare shook her head, feeling the tears welling up again. Why was he doing that to her? Why was he trying to force her into doing this? He was supposed to be her rock, her safe place, and now he was turning on her like everyone else. "Eli, you don't understand. I… I can't tell anyone else. You're the only one who cares."

"That's not true."

"Yes, it is. My dad didn't care. You're the only one who cares," she repeated.

"So your dad's an ass- no offense. Clare, your mother cares about you. So does your sister. So does Adam and… and Dr. Alger and everyone in our group therapy. And you had friends at your old school, right? They care about you. Your dad's a drunk idiot, and he doesn't deserve to have a daughter like you." His fingers stroked the side of her face, and he added in a whisper, "I don't deserve a friend like you."

Clare didn't know why she did it. She didn't know what was going through her mind or, to sound silly and romantic, her heart.

For whatever reason, she leaned towards him and pressed her lips against his.

000

**A/N: Sorry for the short chapter! I hope you liked it!**

**So… Eli **_**might **_**have some feelings for Clare, and Clare **_**might **_**have some feelings for Eli. Or Eli might still be grieving over Julia and Clare might still be grieving over who she might have been…**

**I really have no plans to end this story anytime soon, so I hope you guys like it.**

**Review please! I do not own Degrassi.**


	15. Chapter 15

**If I can stop one heart from breaking,**

**I shall not live in vain;**

**If I can ease one life the aching,**

**Or cool one pain,**

**Or help one fainting robin**

**Unto his nest again**

**I shall not live in vain.**

**-Emily Dickinson**

000

Clare's lips were soft and warm against his, and he felt every brain cell he had completely shorten out. For a moment, he couldn't even think.

_This… this is… we shouldn't be… we shouldn't be doing this…_

But he couldn't talk himself out of it. He couldn't talk himself into pulling away.

Because he wanted to. He _wanted _to kiss her.

He was betraying Julia; he knew that he was. Only months after her death, he was falling for another girl. He… he was practically cheating on her, disrespecting her memory. He couldn't do this. He _shouldn't _do this. He shouldn't be kissing her back. He couldn't think of Clare as anything other than a friend, for _Julia_.

Before he could pull away, Clare broke the kiss, leaping to her feet and staring at him in shock.

"I… um, I… I'm sorry," she mumbled. "I didn't mean to-"

"It's okay," he interrupted. It was _more _than okay, actually, and at the same time, he couldn't believe it had happened.

"I d-don't know w-why I did that," she stuttered, and then repeated, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he echoed numbly, like a parrot that only knew one phrase.

"No, it's not. I… I should go."

Eli stood up. "I'll take you home."

Clare shook her head, biting her lip. "No, I… I think I need to be alone right now."

She left quickly, while Eli just sat there, still staring after her. _What just happened?_

Clare kissed him.

Clare Edwards kissed him.

And he kissed her back. He held her tighter against him and he kissed her back. Even though Julia was dead, even though he'd _killed _Julia, he kissed Clare.

Oh, God. He kissed Clare.

He couldn't bring himself to regret it. He couldn't bring himself to wish that it hadn't happened.

Did she?

She'd certainly left fast enough, like she couldn't wait to be away from him. Was it just a spur-of-the-moment decision?

She was hurt, broken, grieving, and she needed someone to help her, and Eli cared about her. After what had happened with her father, he didn't blame her for having some trust issues, and after what _Mark Fitzgerald _had done to her, maybe she really did feel like no one else could care about her. Maybe she was just so desperate for any sense of love, for anything that could rebuild a shred of her faith in humanity, that it had just… _happened_.

He hoped to her Christian God that that wasn't the case.

He hoped that she really did care about him.

Because he was broken, too. He needed someone, too.

But whatever happened, _Clare came first_. No matter what.

He was going to help her. He _had _to help her, even if she hated him for it. He knew that he couldn't help her on his own, and he knew that the second she realized that he was going to tell Darcy, she would hate him.

He didn't want her to hate him.

Oh, _God_, he didn't want her to hate him. He didn't think that he could live with her hating him.

_We all have to do what we have to do…_

When Julia was in a bad mood- as in, a worse mood than usual- he would sometimes surf the Internet for cheerful, optimistic quotes from "famous" people he'd never heard of to try to make her feel better. He'd read the words in a fake happy voice, and half the time it was that that would make her laugh and smile instead of the actual quote.

He remembered a certain one; a few inspirational words said by someone named Mae West. She'd said, "You only live once, but if you do it right, once is enough."

Clare would hate him.

He would hate himself.

But it was the right thing to do, and he had to make it up to both of them. To Clare and to Julia.

No, and one more person.

He had to make it up to himself.

000

To say that Darcy was _worried _about her sister would be a huge understatement.

It wasn't just that Clare had been… abused. Ever since she'd come home, almost two hours before, she'd been nearly silent, and not like she usually was. She seemed… shaken, for lack of a better word, and Darcy wasn't sure how to handle it.

She knocked lightly on Clare's door, and after a few seconds, she heard her sister's trembling voice call, "Come in."

Darcy eased the door open, stepping inside and closing it behind her. Clare was lying on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. She gave Darcy the tiniest of smiles before closing her eyes.

"Are you okay?" Darcy asked. Stupid, stupid question. Of _course _she wasn't okay.

Clare simply shrugged. "Yeah," she mumbled.

"Clare, if I upset you, I'm sorry-"

"It's not you," Clare assured her. "I… I kissed Eli." The words spilled out in a rush, like she couldn't contain them.

_What?_

That _definitely _wasn't what Darcy was expecting.

"Oh. Um, did he…?" It was really, really weird to be talking about relationships with her sister; she'd left for Kenya before Clare had become interested in boys.

"He kissed me back," Clare replied, and it was such a _normal _conversation (not for their family, but for people in general) that Darcy could feel her heart begin to ache. She wanted to be able to talk to Clare like this _all the time_. She wanted _every _conversation she had with her sister to be nice and normal.

_I'd take it all away if I could, Clare. You know that, right? If I could, I'd take away everything that happened to you._

"But I… I don't know. He… his girlfriend died," Clare continued. "He's not over her yet. And who wants to be a rebound?" Her explanation fell a little flat, like that wasn't the real reason why she was having second thoughts about it.

"Do you regret kissing him?" Darcy asked, sitting down on the bed beside her sister.

Clare shook her head. "No, I don't. I just… I just wish I knew what he was thinking."

Darcy knew the feeling. When she was dating Spinner, she was constantly wondering if he wished she hadn't taken a vow of abstinence. She'd wondered if he was cheating- which he had once- because she couldn't, how do you say it, _put out_.

And then Peter. He knew that she was raped, and… she always wondered if he thought that she was damaged merchandise, like he regretted ever going out with this wreck of a girl.

_Oh_. That was what it was all about. That _asshole_, Mark Fitzgerald.

But Darcy knew better than to bring him up again. She knew that, soon, she would have to tell her mother about what had happened to Clare. Clare needed someone to help, whether she wanted it or not. She _needed _help. The therapy group wouldn't cut it if she wouldn't admit what happened even to her own family.

"I really like him," Clare admitted.

_Maybe she's moving on from what happened to her. Maybe she really is getting better._

"But I… I can't."

_Then again, maybe not._

000

Eli knocked loudly on the front door of Clare's house, hoping that it would be Darcy and not Clare or her mother who answered.

Today, unusually, luck was on his side. The door swung open, and Darcy narrowed her eyes a little at him. "Eli?"

"Hey," he greeted her awkwardly. How was he supposed to say this? _Your little sister was raped by her abusive ex-boyfriend, that's why she tried to kill herself, and please don't tell her that I told you, because then she'll hate me and I can't live with that._ "Um, I have to talk to you. It's about Clare."

Darcy seemed to tense up a little. "Clare? What about her?" She seemed a little afraid, like she could sense that he brought bad news.

"Her boyfriend… I mean, her ex-boyfriend, Mark Fitzgerald…"

"I know," Darcy interrupted. "I know he abused her. I just… she doesn't like to talk about it, and I don't want to push her, but…"

"Yeah," Eli agreed. He knew that Darcy must be in a very bad position; she would be afraid of hurting her sister by forcing her to admit what happened, but she couldn't keep it inside, not forever. "That's not… I mean, he didn't _just _hit her."

"What do you mean?" Darcy demanded.

_How the _hell _am I supposed to tell her that her little sister was raped?_

"It's… complicated. Can I come inside?"

000

**A/N: Does this count as a cliffhanger? I think it might.**

**Anyways, you know the drill. Review please! If I get enough reviews, I'll update early.**

**I do not own Degrassi or anything else I mentioned/referenced/etc in this chapter.**


	16. Chapter 16

**Love is whatever you can still betray. Betrayal can only happen if you love. –John le Carre**

She should have known.

Oh, God. She should have _known_. And, somewhere deep down inside, she probably did. Darcy just hadn't been able to accept it, to _comprehend _it. She had been deluding herself; she had been stubbornly denying that Clare… that Clare had been raped.

But, yeah, she'd _known_.

And at the same time, she hadn't. Not really.

What had happened to Darcy was different than what had happened to Clare, she knew. Darcy had been drugged; she didn't remember anything that had happened to her. She didn't remember her attacker's face; chances were that she'd never seen him before and that she never would again. But Clare had known Mark. She'd trusted him.

He'd hurt her.

Oh, God, that _bastard _had hurt her little sister. He'd _raped _her Clare.

When Eli had told her the whole story, told her Clare's story, she hadn't been able to breathe. She knew that Mark had hit Clare. She knew that he had abused her. But she hadn't… she _couldn't_…

When she'd finally been able to speak, she'd thanked Eli for telling her. And then she'd said that she needed to be alone, and he'd left.

It was stupid. It was _selfish_. She'd said that _she _needed to be alone? How the hell did _Clare _feel?

The whole thing just reminded her so much of her own nightmare, her own horror story. She'd worked so hard to forget, to accept what had happened. Even after more than three years, it was difficult for her. She'd thrown her purity ring off of the roof of Degrassi and then almost leaped off after it; she'd slit her wrists in the shower and prayed that she would die. She understood what Clare was feeling. She understood what it felt like, having something so precious, so _important_, ripped away from her.

Weak. Stupid. Disgusting. Naïve.

She'd felt like it was her fault.

And that was probably exactly how Clare felt.

She was probably still upstairs, asleep. She probably had no idea that Darcy knew her secret.

She'd feel so betrayed. So _scared_.

Again, Darcy knew the feeling.

She stood up, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. Oh, God. Oh, _God_.

Her little sister was raped.

How the hell was she supposed to deal with that?

How the hell was _Clare _supposed to deal with that?

000

Clare was asleep.

_Was_. Past tense.

She still couldn't stop thinking about Eli, about that kiss. About how she'd run out afterwards. About how she couldn't bring herself to regret what had happened.

But she couldn't. She couldn't get close to anyone, because they would just hurt her all over again. She couldn't trust anyone. Somehow, though, she trusted Eli. And it scared her. It scared the hell out of her, because she'd promised herself that she wouldn't trust anyone, ever again.

Clare didn't want to talk about Eli. She didn't know what she felt about him. Did she like him in _that _way? _Could _she like him? He'd been so thoughtful, so _understanding_, when she'd finally broken down and told him everything that happened. He'd cared about her.

And she… she _might_ be falling for him.

In the heat of the moment, when she kissed him, she'd been… confused, but at the same time, so _sure _that what she felt was real, that he felt the same way. That in some sick, twisted reality, they were the two broken halves to a heart. That they fit together.

Now, she wasn't so sure.

She couldn't be sure of anything.

Maybe she should just talk to him. She wasn't sure how he would react if she just showed up on his doorstep, but she had to sort things out.

He was the only person who cared about her. Well, not really; she knew that Darcy certainly did, and so did Helen, though she preferred to pretend like Clare had never tried to kill herself. But they were her family; they _had _to.

Of course, her father was family, too, and he didn't care.

But Eli was different. He looked at her, at this broken coward of a girl, and he saw something beautiful. It was like he was the only person who could see her, see the tiny ghost of who she used to be, who she wanted to be, behind all the hurt and the pain and the fear and the guilt.

Clare stood up, tiptoeing towards the door, out into the hallway, hoping that she could sneak out the door without anyone noticing. Of course, luck definitely wasn't on her side; Darcy was sitting stiffly on the couch in the family room, as if she was waiting for her.

"Hey, Clare." Darcy sounded a little strange, almost… _stiff_, like she was trying to hold back some emotion.

"Hi, Darcy." Clare hesitated, her hand resting on the doorknob, three seconds away from freedom.

"Can… can we talk?"

For some reason, that simple question set off a thousand blaring red warning lights in Clare's mind. It was probably because the last few times she'd really sat down and had a conversation with her sister… well, it had been pretty damned painful.

_Why does she keep putting me through that? Why does she keep asking me questions that hurt me?_

"Can it wait?" Clare asked, and her voice sounded bitchy and impatient, even to her. Before Darcy could answer, she threw the door open, stepped quickly outside, and slammed it behind her.

She couldn't answer anything right now.

000

Clare was standing outside his door, and Eli couldn't read her expression. Usually, he could read people like a book, but Clare… Clare was different. He couldn't always tell what she was thinking, what she was feeling, and it drove him crazy. Or… crazier.

"Eli, I…"

Did she know yet that Eli had told Darcy what happened?

"We need to talk."

Her voice was sort of broken, a little questioning. Her lower lip was trembling, and he… well, he couldn't read her.

"Look, Clare, if this is about what I told Darcy-"

"What?"

Oops.

"What did you tell Darcy?" she demanded.

"Nothing," he answered, a little too quickly. _Damn it_.

"You… you told her that… you told her what happened, didn't you?" Tears were brimming in her eyes, and she looked so betrayed, as if he had read her diary or something and then told the world all of her secrets.

_I did it for you_, he wanted to tell her. _I didn't want to, but I had to because I didn't know what to do._

"Clare, I know that you-"

"_Didn't you_?"

He couldn't lie to her. He'd betrayed her enough already, and he hated himself for it.

And now she hated him, too.

"Yes," he admitted. "But Clare, I-"

"_I trusted you!_"

That sent a twinge of pain through him; _trusted_, as in past tense. As in no longer.

He expected this, but it still hurt like hell.

"I trusted you," she repeated, her voice trembling. "Damn it, Eli, you were the only person I _could_ trust. I told you everything… _everything_… and you…" She took a deep breath, her hands clenching into fists. "I… I _hate _you."

Eli hadn't realized just how much of his heart he'd unwillingly given to Clare until that moment when it shattered into a million pieces. He _knew _that Clare would hate him. He _knew _that.

But that didn't make it hurt any less.

"I _hate _you," she repeated, and he felt like the edges of the words had sharp, serrated points, tearing into him, ripping him open.

He couldn't watch her walk away.

He _couldn't _watch the girl who might well be his reason for staying alive after Julia's death walk straight out of his life.

She hated him.

She _hated _him.

000

"He told you, didn't he?"

Clare was standing in front of her, tears overflowing, but she had a kind of fierce, hard expression that told Darcy that it would be a bad idea to reach out and hug her, as much as she wanted to.

"Eli?" she checked.

"He told you… what happened."

Darcy nodded, keeping her voice soft and understanding. She knew how much it would hurt Clare to talk about it, but she had to. She had to heal; she had to admit what happened. "He told me that Mark Fitzgerald raped you."

Clare shuddered, closing her eyes tightly and biting her lip, like the word itself was hurting her.

"Clare… I know it's hard. Believe me, I _know_. But you can't keep pretending like it never happened. You can't keep holding it on the inside, because it'll destroy you. It'll kill you."

Clare sort of collapsed, falling back onto the couch beside Darcy. She curled up into herself, wrapping her arms around her legs and hiding her face, and she was shaking.

Darcy didn't tell her that it was okay. She knew that it wouldn't be okay, not for a long, long time.

She wrapped her arms around her sister and whispered, "I'm sorry."

_I know it's hard. I know it hurts._

_And I'm sorry._

_I'm so, so sorry._

000

**A/N: Short chapter, sorry!**

**So Eli gets his heart broken… but no hating on Clare, okay? She's kind of going through a lot, and that makes you do crazy things.**

****By the way, Eli's bullying problems haven't disappeared. They're definitely coming back. Patience, dears.****

**So I'm lying here on the couch with my leg propped up on pillows. Why? Not because of a badass sports injury or because I was a victim in a hit-and-run. No, of course my life can't be that epic. I tripped over my cat and fell down the stairs.**

**Anyways, that means I'll probably be able to update again really soon, because aside from homework, I have nothing to do.**

**Reviews are amazing! I do not own Degrassi.**


	17. Chapter 17

_Please come, love, I think I'm falling_

_Holding on to all I think is safe_

_It seems I've found the road to nowhere_

_And I'm trying to escape_

_I yelled back when I heard thunder_

_But I'm down to one last breath_

_And with it let me say, let me say_

_Hold me now_

_I'm six feet from the edge and I'm thinking_

_Maybe six feet ain't so far down…_

-One Last Breath (Six Feet From the Edge) by Creed

000

Eli knew what heartbreak felt like.

That phone call had destroyed his life. Julia's stepmother was sobbing in the hospital, but Eli could tell that it was all some kind of play, some fake little act of the worried mother hen, concerned over her injured daughter. Of course, at that time, Eli still thought that that was all that had happened. When Julia's father had called him, telling him to come to the hospital, all he could thing was that Julia was hurt.

Just hurt. Not dead.

And when he realized that she was gone, that he'd never talk to her again, that he'd never touch her or hold her or kiss her or hear her voice ever, ever again… he couldn't describe the feeling. He couldn't describe the pain.

That was how he felt now.

There were no words.

Of course, Clare wasn't dead. She wasn't gone.

But he was dead to her.

She hated him.

She hated him, and he realized that maybe, just maybe, he loved her.

It didn't matter anymore, because she hated him.

There were no words.

He was lying on his back in the center of the abandoned church, his eyes closed. He couldn't think. He couldn't move. He couldn't breathe.

It didn't seem real. It seemed like a nightmare, like a bad dream.

_Oh, God, let it just be a bad dream._

Eli hadn't believed in God for several years, but now, he had to have _someone_. He didn't have _anyone_, and so he turned to _God_, the very being he'd sworn, over and over, didn't exist.

He didn't believe in God. He probably would never believe in God again.

But he _needed _someone.

_Let me wake up. Please, let me wake up._

_Just let me wake up._

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

_Please…_

000

Clare told Darcy everything.

She told her sister about how she'd thought that she could change Mark, that she could help him find God again. And in the beginning, it seemed to work. He was different around her, kind and gentle, and she thought that maybe that was the real him, that she was doing a good thing. And then he started to yell at her, every now and then, and he would drink and yell and storm around and break things and then pass out.

She told Darcy about the first time Mark hit her, how sorry he was, how he begged for her forgiveness. And she gave it to him, again and again. She smiled and told him that it was okay, that she knew that he was being truthful, that she believed him. That she trusted him.

And it happened again. And again. And again.

He promised her that he wouldn't hit her again. He promised her that he wouldn't drink again. He promised her that he was different, changed, that he would get better for her.

And then it was her fault.

It was her fault for not being a good girlfriend. It was her fault for not being a good Christian. It was her fault for not being a good person.

She believed him. She shouldn't have, but she did.

He took everything from her.

By the end of the story, the end of _her _story, Clare was in tears, barely able to choke out the words, and so was Darcy. Darcy was crying, her arms still around her sister, both of them sort of curled into each other. They stayed like that for a long time, just crying and crying, drowning in a flood of tears.

All Clare did these days was _cry_.

It was a while before her tears ran dry, before she couldn't cry anymore. It was harder than she'd thought, telling even her sister, but now… she felt almost _free_. She remembered Fiona, that day in therapy, when she'd finally spilled her guts to everyone, and she understood how that was… better than keeping it all inside.

But she was scared.

Oh, God, she was scared half to death.

Of Mark, of what Darcy would do, of how much she'd hurt Eli, of herself.

She didn't really hate Eli, of course.

But she'd _trusted _him. She'd trusted him and he'd told Darcy. Maybe that was for her own good… maybe he did it for her. Maybe he really did care about her.

Or maybe he was just like everyone else.

And she didn't _know _if she could trust him ever again.

It was stupid. It was selfish, but she'd been hurt too many times.

Maybe she cared about him. Maybe she _loved _him.

It didn't matter anymore.

_I'm sorry_. The words were a whisper inside her mind, but somehow, she hoped that Eli could hear. She wished that she could take back what she had said, because as wounded as she was, she hadn't meant them. She didn't hate him, and she hoped that he knew that.

There was only one person in the entire world that she really, truly hated, and that was herself.

000

He wanted to talk to her.

All he wanted was to talk to her again, to sit her down and have her _listen _to him. To explain what he had done and why he had done it. To take back everything. To apologize.

Eli wasn't sure if the girl he was referring to was Julia or Clare. To be honest, it didn't really matter.

He was sitting by Julia's grave, one hand resting on the cool stone, staring up at the sky. How many hours had he spent here during the summer? Since he'd met Clare, he hadn't visited Julia once, and he couldn't help but feel like he'd abandoned her, betrayed her like he'd betrayed Clare.

"Julia, I…" He closed his eyes, searching for the words. What was he supposed to say? _I'm sorry_? This was why he'd spent every visit in silence; he couldn't think of anything to say.

"Julia, I screwed up. I really, really screwed this one up. There's this girl… her name is Clare. She… I think I'm falling in love with her. You're not mad, are you?" he asked anxiously, as if she could answer. "I really hope you're not mad… Clare told me her… her secret. And I was really, really worried about her, and I… I told her sister. And she hates me." Eli sighed, a little shakily. "I think I love her, Jules, and she hates me."

He stared at her grave, the letters carved into the stone. _Julia Isabelle Flare_.

He remembered so many things about her, so many little pieces of her carved into his mind. Her laugh, her smile, her scowl. He remembered her rants, the way she'd always go off topic, her artistic talent, the teasing arguments they'd get into over who had the better taste in music. He remembered how surprised and shocked he was- in a good way- when she actually said _yes _when he asked her out. This girl, this beautiful girl, was his.

_Was_. Past tense.

As in, no longer.

"I feel like such an idiot," he admitted. "You can't hear me, can you, Jules?"

There was no answer. He didn't really expect one.

"I know. I know you'd help me if you could."

Eli brushed his fingers over her name one more time, a single tear falling from his eye and landing on the grave. He hadn't brought her flowers, roses to say that he missed her; he'd brought her his tears and the truth.

"I love you," he told her. "I think that, in some way, I always will. You'll always be part of my life." He stood up and whispered, "I'm so sorry."

He walked away and didn't look back.

000

**A/N: I didn't know anyone who was killed in the 9/11 attack, but I remember how confused and scared I was, even though I was just a little kid. For all of you who did lose someone you knew and loved, I'm sorry. We will never forget.**

**I do not own Degrassi or Creed.**


	18. Chapter 18

_There's another world inside of me that you may never see_

_There are secrets in this life that I can't hide_

_Somewhere in this darkness there's a light that I can't find_

_Maybe it's too far away, or maybe I'm just blind, maybe I'm just blind…_

_So hold me when I'm here_

_Right me when I'm wrong_

_Hold me when I'm scared_

_And love me when I'm gone_

_Everything I am and everything in me_

_Wants to be the one you wanted me to be_

_I'll never let you down, even if I could_

_I'd give up everything if only for your good_

_So hold me when I'm here_

_Right me when I'm wrong_

_You can hold me when I'm scared, you won't always be there_

_So love me when I'm gone_

_-_When I'm Gone by Three Doors Down

000

Eli felt… well, he felt just a little better.

Talking to Julia the day before was probably a sure sign that he was teetering on the edge of absolute insanity with one foot on a banana peel, but it was still sort of comforting. It was like the tiniest shred of guilt had been lifted off of his shoulders; he'd told Julia about Clare. Of course, there was probably no way in hell that she was actually somewhere, watching him, but in case she was, at least… at least he wasn't sneaking around behind her back or anything.

Goddamn it, he was so fucking crazy, but it was all he had.

He hadn't forgiven himself, not really. It was still his fault that Julia was dead; he'd still killed his girlfriend, and there was no denying that. There was no forgiving that. But, somehow, he thought that in some insane way, he might have Julia's blessing.

Which was so stupid, since he didn't believe in Jesus or God or any sort of afterlife. According to his belief, Julia was just… gone.

According to Clare's belief, she was in some perfect place called Heaven.

Eli didn't understand how people could be so _sure_, how they could have such faith in something they couldn't see. If there was a God, some higher being who loved all His creations, why had such a perfect, innocent girl like Clare been through so much? If there was a God, how could He let something so horrible happen to someone so… pure?

_Clare._

It hurt to think about her. Every time he thought her name, he remembered her saying, _I hate you. I hate you._ He remembered the tears flowing down her face, the tears he'd caused. He remembered how… how _betrayed _she'd been.

He just fucked up everything he touched, didn't he? From day one, he'd hurt Clare. He hadn't meant to; God, he _hadn't_ meant to. He'd wanted to help her. He'd tried to help her, but he'd screwed up again. The only difference was, Clare wasn't dead.

He felt a little better, having "talked" to Julia, but that didn't mean that he forgave himself. That didn't mean that he didn't hate himself.

He kept his eyes away from Clare in group therapy. When Dr. Alger tried to talk to him, he pretended that he didn't hear her. He kept his eyes pointed straight at the wall and his hands clenched into fists so tightly at his sides that his ragged, stubby fingernails dug painfully into his palms. He probably had scars there by now, little half-moons permanently imprinted on his skin.

Clare didn't speak, either, but he could feel her eyes burning into him. He was afraid to look; he was afraid to see the anger, the pain in her eyes directed at him. He was a coward, but he was so damned afraid of being hurt, of having his heart broken all over again for the hundredth time.

"Eli?"

Her voice was soft, and Eli paused in the doorway, every instinct screaming at him to get the hell out of there before he could look her in the eyes again, before he could be trapped in her again. Before he could be reminded all over again of what a monster he was.

But her voice… she didn't sound angry. She sounded hurt, but it wasn't really directed at him. She was just sort of… timid. Uncertain.

"Eli?" she repeated, resting one hand lightly on his shoulder.

_Don't turn around, don't turn around._

"I'm sorry," he whispered, so quietly he wasn't sure if she heard him. He knew that those two simple words wouldn't make any difference, that apologizing wouldn't repair the damage he had done. It was like apologizing to Julia; it wouldn't make her any less dead, and it didn't make him feel any better, but for some reason, he felt like he _had _to say it. He had to tell Clare that he was sorry.

Eli didn't expect her to forgive him. After all, even he couldn't forgive himself.

Without waiting for her reply, he shrugged away her hand and walked quickly away without looking back.

It was getting to be a sort of habit of his lately.

With every step he took, every bit of distance he put between him and Clare, he could feel what little of his heart he had left crumbling into nothing.

000

_I'm sorry._

What did he have to be sorry for?

Clare had only said those words, _I hate you_, in the heat of the moment. She'd felt so pissed, so betrayed, but above everything, she'd been _scared_. Scared that Eli hated her. Scared that Darcy would hate her. Scared that the world would hate her, and she wouldn't be able to blame them.

When she said that, she wasn't talking to Eli. She might have been standing in front of him, might have been looking at him, but she hadn't been talking to him. She'd been talking to herself, screaming at herself. Because she hated herself.

It didn't matter how many people told her that it wasn't her fault. It didn't matter how many people called her beautiful, even if that person was Eli. It would always be her fault. She would always be… _ugly_. She would always be a mistake, a freak.

Clare should have been the one apologizing. She should have been the one to say _I'm sorry._

She'd expected Eli to be mad, to be so pissed off at her. She'd expected him to hate her for what she'd said, for how she'd hurt him, but he… he didn't. She didn't understand him at all; she didn't know what he must think, how much he must hate himself to believe her words.

They had more in common than they thought.

Clare couldn't believe that she'd said those things to him. She couldn't believe that she'd been so cruel, so heartless.

Some little voice in the back of her head told her that she was being way too hard on herself, but that voice hadn't heard Eli when he whispered that he was sorry. That voice hadn't seen the pain in his eyes when she screamed that she hated him.

She didn't hate him.

She _didn't_.

Darcy hadn't really talked much to Clare since she'd heard the news. It wasn't like she was avoiding her sister; it was more as if she was trying to take it all in, like she still wasn't sure of what exactly had happened to Clare, which was understandable. Clare herself wasn't really sure. She knew that Darcy would tell her to press charges, that she would tell her that she had to lock Mark up for good, but she wasn't ready for that. She was in no way, shape or form ready to face her demons.

Because it was _her _fault.

No one believed her. They all thought that she was just suffering from… post-traumatic stress or something.

They were wrong. They always were.

"Darcy." When her sister didn't move, Clare repeated louder, "_Darcy_."

Darcy turned around, giving Clare an almost nervous smile, like she was worried that her sister somehow had even _more _bad news. As if that was _possible_.

"Can you drive me to Eli's house?"

000

Clare Edwards was standing outside his door, looking… well, he couldn't tell. There was such a mix of emotions, spread over her face, than he felt like he was drowning in _feelings _when he looked her in the eyes.

That little voice in the back of his head told him to just slam the door in her face, to shut her out of his life before she could speak the words that would inevitably lead to even more heartbreak. Even _looking _at this girl hurt him, and he wasn't sure if he'd be able to stand actually _talking _to her.

He expected her to say something hurtful. Something that would push the knife even farther inside of him and twist the blade.

Instead, she whispered, "I had a purity ring."

_Uh, okay?_

"I… I promised myself and I promised God that I would be… abstinent until marriage," Clare continued, her voice wavering. "And Mark… he took that all away. He took _everything _from me." She kept speaking, even though she looked and sounded like she was about to break down. "That's why I tried to kill myself. Because I… I broke my promise. And I couldn't… live with myself. Not when I had done something like that."

"But you didn't want to," Eli pointed out. "It wasn't your decision."

"You don't get it. It _was _my decision. It was my decision to trust him, to forgive him, again and again. I _knew _that I shouldn't. I _knew _that he'd do it again. I… I _asked _for this. If I'd just left when I had the chance, none of this would have happened. So… so it _is _my fault." Her voice was steadily rising, and she seemed to be struggling to control herself.

Eli shook his head. "Clare, you didn't ask for this. You… you didn't _ask _him to… to do that to you. It's not your fault that he… that he's like that. You didn't ask for him to hit you. Clare, this is what he _wants_. He wants you to feel like it's your fault, because then you'll keep forgiving him. And you _can't_, Clare. You can't let him _win_. What happened to you doesn't count, Clare. You can still have your perfect life. You can still have a second chance."

She stared at him with tear-filled eyes and whispered, "We only get one life, right?"

Confused by the sudden change of subject, Eli just nodded.

"Then I want… I want another chance. I… I don't want to… to hate myself for the rest of my life. I don't… I don't want to be like this anymore."

"That's good, Clare. That's really, really good."

"I didn't mean it, Eli. When I said that I hated you… I didn't mean it." She glanced away from him, rolling up her sleeve with shaking fingers to show him the row of scars, lining the inside of her arm. She traced them with one finger, somehow keeping the tears back. "I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to hurt myself anymore. I just… I can't help it."

"You _can _help it. Look, Clare, I know I sound like every bullshit therapist you've ever met, but this… this can change. People can change, I promise. Look, this is going to sound so fucking cheesy, but… you changed _me,_ Clare." She frowned slightly at him, and he rushed to explain… well, explain as well as he could. "I… I visited Julia's grave yesterday. I told her that I was sorry. I told her that I… that I'm falling in love with you. I know that I barely know you and you barely know me, but…" He trailed off, searching her face desperately for anything that might hint to him that he wasn't some misguided idiot, that she might possibly share his feelings.

He could see something in her eyes, something he couldn't describe.

This time, he was the one to kiss her.

She was almost melting in his arms, and she held on to him like he was her lifeline, like he was the only thing keeping her together.

They were broken, damaged, fucked up. Both of them were.

From now on, they'd just have to be broken, damaged, and fucked up together.

This time, she didn't push him away.

000

**A/N: Okay, okay, so I lied when I said that I didn't know when this story would end. In my defense, at the time I really didn't.**

**Next chapter is the last one, but there will be a SEQUEL, I promise! I just feel like I need to end this story soon, because if I don't, it will be very… run-on? Or something like that…**

**In case I didn't make it clear (I'm kind of bad about that), Clare and Eli are in no way over what happened. Clare's just starting to realize that what happened wasn't her fault, but she has a long ways to go. Eli probably will never really be over Julia, and he's not at the point where he can forgive himself for what he thinks he did just yet.**

**And I realize that what Eli told Clare is very similar to what Manny told Darcy. You see what I did there? (Yeah, me neither.)**

**Anyways, review please!**

**I do not own Degrassi or, unfortunately, Three Doors Down. If I did, I'd be filthy rich and I'd be able to buy a laptop that doesn't randomly freeze and shut down every ten minutes.**


	19. Chapter 19

"**Who are you?" said the caterpillar. Alice replied, rather shyly, "I hardly know, Sir, just at present- at least I know who I was when I got up this morning, but I think I must have changed several times since then."**

**-**Alice in Wonderland

If you could change one thing in the world, what would it be?

That, of course, is the golden question. It's right up there with _If you could go back in time, if you had another chance, what would you do differently?_

Clare would change everything. She would do _everything _differently.

She couldn't deny the past. She couldn't pretend like it had never happened. Mark Fitzgerald raped her _when_ she was too innocent and too naïve to see it coming, not _because _of that. Maybe Eli and Darcy were right. Maybe it really wasn't her fault.

It was ugly, it was horrible, it was a nightmare, but it happened, and she couldn't act like it didn't. It changed her, messed her up inside, but maybe, in some way, she would be able to heal. Eli was right; she couldn't let Mark win, not this time. She wasn't going down without a fight.

Eli had made her see that she _could _fight. That it wasn't over yet.

She didn't know what she would do without him.

For the millionth time, Clare was sitting down with Darcy, searching for the words. Her sister was watching her patiently; Darcy understood, better than anyone else, that Clare would need time, that this wasn't something she could just rush in to. Darcy understood her, and Eli understood her. She wasn't alone after all.

"Darcy, if you… if you knew who had… raped you at that party, what would you do?" The words felt thick and clumsy, spilling awkwardly out of Clare's mouth, but at least she'd _said _them.

Darcy glanced away, seeming to think hard about Clare's question. "If I'd known him," she repeated. "I… Clare, at the beginning, after what happened… I was too scared. I just wanted to pretend like it had never happened, like I had never even gone to that party. If I'd known, I probably wouldn't have done anything, not in the beginning, and that… that would have been wrong. Now, some part of me wishes that I remembered more about that night, because then maybe, they could catch him. Maybe they could stop him from doing the same thing to another girl."

Clare understood. If she didn't do something about Mark, this would happen all over again. He'd hit another girl; he'd destroy another girl's life, and Clare couldn't let that happen. She hadn't asked for what had happened to her, but now she had to suck it up and deal with the fact that she was the only one who could stop Mark now. She was the only one who could help his future girlfriend, his future victim.

"But in the beginning… you were scared. You didn't know what to do, right?"

"Right," Darcy replied. "I did some things that I'm not very proud of, but behind everything, I was just… broken. Empty. And I tried to hide it, tried to cover it up. It took me… it took me a long time to accept what had happened, but once I did… I could start healing. Once I did, everything was so much better. Not all at once, of course. It takes time. Everything takes time, and it's going to be hard, Clare, but it's going to be worth it."

Clare nodded, remembering what she'd told Eli. She didn't want to be like this anymore. She wanted to get better.

"I guess I'll have to tell Mom, right?" she sighed.

Darcy gave her an almost apologetic smile. "Yeah, you will. She'll… she'll take it pretty hard. She'll make a few mistakes, but you just have to remember that, no matter what, she loves you, Clare. She'll always love you. You'll just have to let her deal with it on her own terms."

"I…" Clare stopped, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. "I want to press charges. Against Mark, I mean. I… I want to do something about him." She opened her eyes and added, echoing Eli's words, "I have to fight back, Darcy. I can't let him win, not this time."

000

Eli was at the graveyard again, lying on his back beside Julia's grave and speaking softly to her.

"I know you're not there, Jules. Well… I don't know, actually. Not really. I guess I'll never know." He turned his head slightly, re-reading the inscription on the stone. _Julia Isabelle Flare._ "Clare… Clare's doing better. I think we're… sort of together now. She's helping me, Jules, and I'm helping her. I… you should see her, how much she's changed in just a few days. She's getting better. It'll take a while, but she's getting better. We both will."

He knew that the road he was taking wouldn't be easy. Hell, _nothing _in his life was easy, not anymore. Sometimes, he thought that nothing ever had been. There were the people at school, the football players who shoved him against the lockers when the teachers weren't looking. There were his own demons, the guilt that still weighed so heavily on him. There was Clare, the fragile keeper of his damaged heart. There was Julia.

_Her funeral was one of the worst things Eli had ever had to live through. _

_The entire time, he wanted to punch that damned priest, or whoever the hell he was. He was making Julia seem like the perfect little girl, her parents' beautiful princess, and that wasn't who she was at all. He wanted to go up there and tell them about the _real _Julia, the Julia he'd known and loved._

_She wasn't perfect; no one was. He wanted to tell them about the Julia who was both selfish and selfless, the Julia who talked him off a ledge and then got all worked up over the smallest things, the Julia who was unpredictable and an artist and kind and spontaneous and beautiful and intimidating and filled to the brim with defiance. He wanted to tell them every little detail about Julia, from the way her eyes sparkled at him to the way she would stare off into space, her lips parted slightly as she was lost deep in thought._

_But these people wouldn't understand. They didn't want to hear about the real Julia; they wanted to hear about the perfect, polite, quiet girl her parents wished she was. They wanted to ignore all of her flaws and quirks, everything that made her Julia. Everything that made her _human_._

_They didn't even get the _good _things right. Julia was _not _polite. She didn't always mind her manners. She wasn't one for spontaneous acts of kindness to random strangers. The way they described her art, it made it seem like she had sat there, stone-faced and serious, carefully and steadily drawing line after line. They took all of the passion, all of the spirit that Julia had poured into her creations and threw it away. They were creating the perfect Julia, the girl they wanted to remember instead of the one who was actually there._

_If he went up there, if he told the _truth_, they wouldn't listen._

_They wouldn't care._

_These people didn't care about Julia, not like he had._

_No one noticed him standing up. Not one noticed him walking away._

_This girl, the girl they were burying, she wasn't Julia._

_He didn't know who she was._

"I'm never going to forget you," he whispered, his fingertips tracing patterns on the cool stone. "No matter how long I live, no matter how many people I love, I'll never forget you, Julia. I'll always love you, but you… you're gone, and I have to accept that. I have to accept that I can't change that."

He stood up, smiling softly down at her grave. _Julia Isabelle Flare._

He knew that he'd never come back here. He knew that he'd never visit her grave again. He'd never forget her, but this would be the last time he stood there in front of her final resting place, talking to her as if she could hear him.

Maybe she could.

But he'd never come back here.

"Bye, Jules," he whispered.

_I love you._

000

Clare didn't know why it wasn't helping.

For some reason, she'd thought that spilling her story would immediately make her feel a million times better. Announcing that she was going to press charges should have been the next step down that road.

For a while, it really had helped. She'd felt better, like the weight of the world had been lifted off her shoulders.

But now…

It was stupid. Stupid and selfish and short-lived.

Clare had faced her demons, but it didn't matter, because they refused to be beaten. She'd told Eli what happened. She'd told Darcy what happened.

It didn't matter. Not anymore.

She was still broken. She was still a damaged, disgusting excuse for a human. She was still Clare Edwards, and God, she didn't want to be. She would trade her life for anything, anyone. She was trapped inside her own mind, inside her own life, and she hated it. She wanted _out_.

Right before Clare had leaped from the top of that cliff into the ocean, her mind had been a wild storm, winds and rains and churning waters, mixing and twisting her every thought. She hadn't been able to think clearly, not really. Even before she hit the water, she was fighting against the handcuffs, some kind of animal instinct taking over. She wanted to die. She wanted to die so badly that she wanted to live.

Now, though, her mind was clear.

She could think now, and she realized that it hadn't helped, that nothing did.

She still hated herself.

And nothing, _nothing_, would ever change that.

Clare pressed the cool, sharp edge of the razor against her skin, her upper arm this time, where the scars wouldn't be so easily detected, and she smiled to herself.

She _smiled_.

_Every girl's entitled to a secret…_

000

**A/N: The sequel to Six Feet From the Edge is going to be called Kryptonite, and it'll probably be up within the next couple days.**

**I hope this made at least a little sense…**

**By the way, I haven't abandoned Live and Let Die. I'm just experiencing horrible writer's block, and it might be a few days before I update that again. It won't be updated as often as Kryptonite will be, either. Sorry!**

**Anyways… LAST CHAPTER! I love all you guys and I hope you like the sequel! Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this and especially to everyone who reviewed! You guys are awesome!**

**I do not own Degrassi.**


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